


NOTES

by TORUKAisJUSTICE



Series: The Art of Stalking [3]
Category: ONE OK ROCK
Genre: Busking, Depression, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Toruka - Freeform, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:39:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TORUKAisJUSTICE/pseuds/TORUKAisJUSTICE
Summary: “That’s my name. Takahiro,” he said, hesitating for a moment before shyly peering up at him again, “JustTakahiro.”It was spoken in a soft voice,barely above a whisper, but the name reminds Toru ofnobleness, of greatness and of prosperity.Suddenly, he found their surroundingsunfittingfor this obviously rich-looking young man.The snow that fell on the pavement and all around the streets was too cold and the thick clouds above them were so dense, dark and obscuring the moon and stars beyond. The streets were cold, almost in monotone and the only warmth that can be found was the street lamps that emits burst of gold, scattered along the road and the few shops which are still opened this late at night.It wasn’t right—wasn’t fitting—but it was stillbeautiful.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I died listening to the audio recording of Notes N' Words during OOR's concert in Taiwan. It's too pretty for my poor, fragile heart.
> 
> Taka is in his uhm 2014 MLF look in here, while Toru is in his uh, Ambitions pre-North American Tour-look. You know when he posted in IG that says he's in shooting or something? Where he have huge-ass eyebags and shits? That one. Or just fucking imagine it because I sucks at explaining things.
> 
> For those who don't know, busking is defined as: "playing music or otherwise performing for voluntary donations in the street or in subways"
> 
> WARNING: This has some mentions of self-harming and depression inside. Please don't read if you're easily triggered by that.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the typos and shits you can found in here. OOR and all of its members are not mine. This is purely fiction so calm your shits, the characters won't resort to self-harm (as far as we all know).

It was the first of December when he _first_ saw him.

Takahiro has been strolling around Shibuya, wearing a sweater that covers almost half of his face. It was cold, but not freezing enough so he didn’t bother to put on his gloves and hat. Besides, he will be just walking around the place with this girl—wait, _what was her name again?_

Taka pouted, subtly glancing at the strawberry blonde girl who’s been latching at his arm as if she damned owns it or something. His father had _, again_ , forced him to join this girl into a pre-Christmas shopping along the commercial district and threatened to cut his allowance if he will not obey. Taka really, _really_ want to flip him off and gave a fucking dirty finger to his old, _dumb_ face but he can’t really imagine himself living in the streets so he followed.

_Like an obedient little puppy._

So here he is, walking aimlessly as he tries his damn best to pull a smiling face while he _blatantly_ ignore whatever the fuck this girl is blabbering about for _god-knows-how-many-hours_ already.

“So,” the girl suddenly stopped in front of the glass wall of a certain dress shop, “When are you gonna marry me, Taka-kun?”

Taka’s mind instantly went _ballistics_ at that.

 _WHOAH, WHOAH, girl_ —he averted his gaze, desperately trying to find something that will help him escape this shitty situation— _You might be in the never-ending list of my potential wives but we’ve only known each other for what—10 minutes or something and you’re already **ASKING ME WHEN I’M GONNA MARRY YOU?!**_

 _How about never?_ His mind blandly thought, his gaze landing on a figure sitting in front of a blank expanse of bricks—once again ignoring the girl who’s been smiling like an angel at him, or more like a witch trying to seduce him in the middle of the street or something equally creepy.

The figure across the street was that of a young man, probably older than Takahiro himself. He’s wearing layers of faded clothes, sitting on the slightly raised platform while playing a guitar that was perched on his lap.

_A busker?_

Taka can see the black guitar case on the curb side, opened and containing some coins and paper bills. _Yep, definitely a busker_. This is the first time he can see one and he’s sure that this will be more exciting rather than playing the good-man on this girl who couldn’t even see that he’s only faking all the smiles he’s been pulling since they’ve met.

_“Taka-kun?”_

The soft strums of guitar reached Taka’s ears. They were drowned by the loud chattering of people passing by and of the sound of the vehicles around them, but if you would just listen intently, you can hear the strong, melodious sound of the guitar—even across the street, where Taka stood like a statue.

His head unconsciously turned towards the busker, his ears trained on the sound of the wordless song and his eyes roaming on the guitarist’s face—

 **WHO’S BEEN STARING DIRECTLY AT HIM ALL THIS TIME** —

 _The fu_ —

Taka instantly straightened up, the peaceful bubble surrounding him instantly bursting as he realized that _yes,_ the man is looking at him with curious, tired-looking eyes; his honey-blonde hair was tousled, as if he just woke up and there’s an amused smirk playing on his lips—as if he finds it amusing that Taka is _practically near to crossing the street_ just to hear more of his music.

_“Taka-kun? Are you still listening to me?”_

A small, _loop-sided_ smirk formed on the man’s thin lips as he obviously leaned his body towards Taka’s direction and played the guitar even _more enthusiastically_. The strums of strings filled Taka’s ears that he can’t help the gears of his mind from forming words, laying lyrics over the cords, as he watched the performer in a _trance-like_ state.

_“Taka-kun? Taka-kun!”_

As the plucking of guitar strings grew harsher and faster, reminding Taka of a forthcoming crescendo in a classical piece, he can feel his feet— _traitorously_ —stepping towards the road, _with every fiber of his being_ intent of crossing it and standing in front of the busker just to hear more of his music—

**_“Taka!”_ **

—when the _bitch_ suddenly tugged at his arm, effectively pulling him out of his stupor. He blinked, looking down on the hand tightly clutching at his sweater before looking at the flushed— _probably because of irritation or humiliation of being ignored the entire time_ —cheeks of the girl, who’s looking worriedly up at him.

“Where are you going?” she asked in her annoyingly high-pitched voice, “I’ve been talking to you for ages and you’re not even listening!”

Taka scowled, realizing that this girl just _stupidly_ shattered his _only-once-in-a-blue-moon_ peaceful mood. Now, he can’t hear the guitar anymore as the world _came back to life_ —the loud, annoying sounds of people talking simultaneously, the road of engines and the sound of hundreds of footsteps around them.

“And you even almost left me here!”

_Oh, and let’s not forget this woman’s shrilly voice, dammit._

“That’s just your imagination,” he said, tugging his arm free from the girl’s grasp, before he started walking forward again, “Let’s go find somewhere to eat or I’ll _really_ leave you behind,” he threatened, completely annoyed that he needs to spend a few more hours with this girl.

The girl pouted childishly before stomping behind him and latching on his arm again like a _damn clingy octopus._

Taka was so focused on walking faster to get _rid_ of the girl even quicker that he didn’t notice the slight _crestfallen look_ that formed on the guitarist’s face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Winter is usually cold in Japan, but tonight, even amidst the forecasted bad weather in a few hours, Toru still went on his way to perform in the streets. He has been doing it since a month ago— _playing acoustic music in the busy streets of Shibuya in exchange of coins_ —and it’s not because he badly needs money.

Well, he’s a struggling university student but he’s _not that_ poor to actually resort to busking. He just want to give something to people who are less fortunate than him, and since he can just barely support his schooling, he thought that it would be nice if he could earn the money through playing guitar— _the only thing he’s apparently good at._

He could go to the entertainment world, _his friends say_ , but that was too much of a hassle and Toru doesn’t really have the patience to wait for his debut or big break or something. He needs money _, now,_ even before the year ends because there are actually people waiting for him— _for his gifts._

 _And I’ll give it to them, no matter what,_ he thought in determination as he started another song. However, no matter how enthusiastic he looks, he can’t still fight the chill that’s slowly creeping up his body. He’s been sitting in this curbside for what— _2 hours?—_ and his fingers are starting to redden because of the cold.

But he kept on playing, as his large heavily lidded eyes swept through the crowd, his lips smiling _graciously_ at everyone who’d throw coins and paper bills on the open guitar case beside him. A breeze blew along the street, picking up the snow, dirt and papers that had settled on the moist pavement, carrying it past him. Toru slightly shivered but his fingers didn’t cease the movements as they strummed the guitar strings. Toru nodded his head as the instrument sung of _warmth_ , of _beauty_ , of _joy_ and _love_ — _or so he wanted to believe_ —because he never bothered to write lyrics for them—as he listen to the melodies he produced.

He’s definitely an _idiot_ about words— _preferring numbers and formulas rather than literary pieces_ —but he can definitely said with pride that there’s something _calming and soothing_ with each pluck of the strings, and every glide of his calloused fingers along the slim neck of the guitar, making it call out _beautifully_ to the evening air for everyone to hear.

Even if there are kind souls who paid him attention ( _and money_ ), there was still no one who stopped more than a few minutes to hear the end of every song. No one stayed _long enough_ to hear everything he had composed, and despite getting money from the random passersby’s, Toru still _crave_ s for someone who would _openly appreciate_ his music.

So, imagine his extreme surprise when he saw a young boy, _all clad in black_ , standing beside a random girl, and simply watching Toru across the busy street.

At first, all he did was stare on him, then on the guitar he’s been playing, then on the bills and coins on his guitar case—his eyes roaming at Toru’s form, and Toru watched it all. He watched— _mesmerized_ —as the pair of glimmering almond-shaped eyes snapped their gaze towards him, the boy’s body inclining to Toru’s direction as if he’s straining his ears just to hear _more._

Toru didn’t halted playing as he stared at the boy— _who’s looking lost in his own little world, by the way_ —noting how his regal nose turns red from the cold, his face halfway buried in the sweater he’s wearing. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his _obviously expensive_ coat— _and oh, there’s still the girl_ beside him who’s talking loudly that Toru can even hear her from across the street. Even if the girl is obviously ranting about being ignored, the boy _didn’t_ make any effort to move nor to acknowledge whatever the fuck the girl is saying— _or screaming_ —at him.

After a while of watching Toru play his guitar, the boy seemed to realize that his heavily-lidded eyes were resting on him. The teen visibly jumped on his feet, a vivid scarlet instantly exploded on his cheeks which Toru found amusing— _and adorable as hell because no one should be looking like that_ —making his lips curl into an amused smirk.

He picked up the pace of strumming, the strings reverberating harshly yet producing _lively sounds_ as he eyed the boy, beckoning him to come closer— _because this is the first time, of all the nights he spent alone in the cold street, that someone had showed so much interest in his music_. And Toru has this strange urge to lure this young boy— _wait, why did that sounds like I’m a pedo_ —closer and make him listen to endless songs—

He triumphantly smiles when the boy took a step towards his direction—

_Yeah, that’s right, come here._

_I’ll play songs for you all night—_

—only to be stopped by the annoyingly loud girl earlier.

_What the fuck._

Toru’s smile froze and his face fell when the young man blinked the turned towards the girl to speak to her. _Oh, right. The girl is still existing._

His face even went sour as he realized that she’s probably his girlfriend, and that he’s not really interested to Toru’s music.

The guitarist frowned as the _unknown feeling_ of disappointment whirled beneath his chest. He’s not sure why, but the fact that he might not see the boy again for like, _ever_ , is really making him lonely for an unknown _reason._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Just kidding._

To Toru’s immense relief, he saw the same young man standing just a _few feet away_ from him the next night. He’s on the same sidewalk where Toru is standing and playing the guitar that was sling across his shoulder, but he didn’t made any more effort to come closer.

In fact, he didn’t even changed his _facial expressions_ the whole time he’s been listening to Toru’s music.

He just stood there, like a _regal_ statue. His hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his breaths coming out in puffs of white air and his eyes were glued to the movements of Toru’s fingers gliding across the taut strings.

He should find it weird— _and somewhat creepy_ —to stare at a stranger who’s _, in turn,_ staring at your instrument as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Well, at least _someone is obviously_ enjoying his music, so even if the young man doesn’t give any money, it’s totally fine with Toru.

_Besides, I can ogle—I mean, see—his face if he’s this close._

Toru inwardly nodded at his thoughts and smiled at the boy who visibly jerked in surprise when he realized that he’s being stared at. His eyes widened as he met Toru’s amused face, and just like last night, his cheeks exploded with a faint crimson blush that makes the guitarist grinned even wider.

The boy coughed _awkwardly_ in his fist before turning around and running like he’s been chase by a _horde of zombies_ for his brain and internal organs.

Toru tilted his head, watching his frame until he went out of his sight, and smiled as he continued play— _bowing and smiling graciously_ to yet another coin that landed on his case.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taka knows that he shouldn’t really go back to that street again, just to listen to some random guy’s music. He’s been in enough hell for sneaking out of their house, but there’s something about that music, about how the man plays the guitar, that _calls_ for Taka—that makes him think that the scolding he’ll get _is totally worth it._

“Maybe I should try playing the guitar?” he wondered, pulling his sleeves up, revealing the faint _crisscrossing lines_ of scars decorating his wrist. Some are old and are buried by the newer ones but it didn’t make it less horrible to the eyes.

They are the signs of his _weakness._

Yet this is where he pulled out the strength to _pull through_ , to move _forward,_ to ignore the shitty environment he grew up with.

_Such irony, huh._

A loud shattering was heard downstairs but Taka didn’t even flinched. He’s been used with that, and the scream fest that _usually_ follows. He’d lived his entire childhood behind tall gates, inside the heavily-tinted cars and eating _alone_ in front of a huge mahogany table. His parents were too busy that most of the times, they _seem to forget_ that they still have a son existing ( _and probably_ ) rotting away somewhere in their huge house.

He’s almost 21 but he’s still living under his parents’ roof—living the life that everyone is probably envious of. But is he _happy?_

**_Hell, no._ **

He had made it clear from the start. He wanted attention, acknowledgment, love, _freedom_. He wanted to go out with friends, get drunk in random streets and share meals with other persons aside from his _potential_ wives and his father’s business partners. He wanted to live as Takahiro, not a Moriuchi— _never a Moriuchi_. He wanted to find his _happiness_ , his _dreams_ , his _own life_ —but _how can he_ , when wherever he went, everyone is looking at him with _pity and mild disgust_ as the son of the Mori couple who _couldn’t even sing?_

_Damn._

The scars are itching _again._

It feels like this whenever he remembers the _first of the many times_ he stood on stage, when he was as young as five years old and was forced to sing a song. He’d memorized the lyrics by heart, the melodies were _cruelly pounded_ on his brain through everyday rehearsals and yet— _and yet_ —his lips didn’t open that day.

_They didn’t produce any lines, any words, any sound._

He just stood there, eyes wide in _terror_ as he grasp the _overly-large_ microphone with his shaking tiny hands as he stared at the crowd in fear.

It took a full minute before someone pulled him out of the stage. It was shown nation-wide— _the supposed break for the only son of the famous Mori couple_ —and he botched it, _magnificently_.

His mother looked _disappointedly_ at him, urging him to take more lessons.

His father threatened to _disown_ him if he didn’t get better.

And so he spent _every-fucking-days_ studying how to sing. He’s a small child, even smaller because of his genes, and he’s supposed to be playing outside, jumping on the fallen dried leaves in the autumn, playing snowball fights during the winter, making new school friends in the spring, and swimming in the cold, shallow waters of the river throughout the summer.

But, _no._

He didn’t experienced _any_ of that.

He was locked behind the walls of their mansion—learning from tutors about various things that didn’t help his pathetic case _at all._ After almost a hundred times of trying _, and miserably failing_ , his father had it enough.

He was considered a _failure._

A _disappointment._

A _rotten child who could never be helped._

As Taka grows, he started arguing with his parents. He would often say that he really don’t want to sing, and live the life his parents are forcing down his throat, but aside from the sickening sound of _palm hitting his cheek_ , Taka didn’t get anything out of it. He rebelled in his teenage years but the thrill and excitement of it went away as he ages.

He grew _tired._ Helpless. Hopeless.

_Depressed._

Because how can he live, how can he believe that there’s something _worth living_ when the world is really intent on throwing only bad things at his face? How can he find the l _ight_ , the _spark_ , the _will to live_ , when he can’t even escape the darkness of his mind?

How can he love when he, _himself_ , doesn’t experience it in the first place?

And so, he fell deeper into depression. And harming himself.

_Like now._

Taka sighed, as he nonchalantly pulled his drawer open, fishing yet another set of gleaming, sharp blade.

 _Just a bit of it,_ he thought as he pulled a bloody scarf from the drawer to catch the blood to avoid getting the bed messy,  _then I’ll see that damn busker again._

Just a bit of _pain._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There he is _again._

Toru smiled in _relief_ after searching the crowd for hours for the young boy who usually drops by and see him perform. The boy is standing a _bit_ closer this time, probably just five meters away from him, yet he looked somewhat _different._

Well, he still have the confused little scowl plastered on his face as he watched and listen attentively as Toru continued playing the guitar relentlessly— _tirelessly_ —but tonight, something was _obviously different._ The boy’s eyes are following Toru’s movements— _like a creepy stalker_ —but without the usual shine of amazement and curiosity on them. Instead, they are _hollow_ , like they’re just staring right through him— _not hearing, not seeing anything._

And for some strange reason, Toru had this weird urge to take the steps between them and asked the boy on what makes him upset.

But that will be _too creepy._

And the boy would probably send his freezing ass to the nearest jail for _assault or something._

And Toru _didn’t_ want that.

So he just sighed, turning his body to face the startled teenager and played the usual song the he plays. He somewhat feels that it’s the boy’s favorite because he listens to it intently every night, _from the beginning to the end_ , without leaving. He can even sometimes see how the boy’s fingers softly thrummed against his pants, his feet tapping on the pavement as his body slightly sways in tune of the guitar’s rhythm.

And the boy did just all of that.

He smiled as he watched the boy’s dark expressions mellowed out into a _softer_ look, thought his quivering lips were still pulled down in a frown, Toru can feel— _knows_ —that he’s somewhat feeling better just by hearing the song.

And he’s _surprisingly_ fine with that.

Even if the teenager _dashed away_ as soon as the song ended.

 _Damn kid_ , Toru shook his head in exasperation, watching as the small frame got lost in the sea of people, _he didn’t leave any coins! Again!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The snow fall will be heavier tonight, well, that’s what the news said earlier. Takahiro doesn’t give any fucks _either way_. Except that no matter how he denies it, no matter how he _pretends_ that he’s not, he’s still _oh-so slightly_ concerned for a certain _someone’s_ health.

_I mean, he’s not that dumb to play in this kind of weather right?_

Taka’s gaze snapped towards the window where he can see the relentless falling of the rain. The man with the guitar looks like a _hobo_ but he’s _probably not that poor to spend the night outside, playing in the freezing air, in exchange of measly coins, ne?_

Right.

Besides, he should be minding his own business not thinking that the guitarist might catch a cold or a flu because of the bad weather. He’s kinda busy at the moment so…

He’s actually doing nothing but assessing this newly-found feeling deep within his chest.

He was so used in living in the dark— _not, not in the dark as in without any lights in their house_ —in the past years; he’s been used living a _monotonous life_ —waking up, studying, following his father’s orders, eating out with prospective business partners, smiling tightly at the cameras, before going home to sleep— _everything was set out in a dull routine_. There’s really nothing to look forward to because it’s all the same— _every day is the same_ and Taka is more than eager to just flip it all and kick the bucket already.

That’s where this…this _weird_ thing happened.

He was so used on his boring life that it had been a direct hit to his mind when he realized that ever since he heard that song from the busker, _not a day goes by_ without Taka thinking of the guitarist. No, he’s not obsessed, _I’m sure of it._

He’s just…

There’s this odd sense of _calmness_ , of _warmth_ , of _home_ that assaults his senses whenever he stood there, under the frigid December air and listens to the man who strummed his instrument with _too much enthusiasm_. And whenever he stared at Taka, as if he’s dedicated the _nameless_ song to him, smiles at him with such gentleness and warmth in his eyes, Taka can feel his chest constricting _painfully_ that he usually ends up running away in embarrassment and confusion.

It’s weird, especially because he’ll always end up in some random alley, panting as if he just ran a marathon with his heart _madly beating_ against his chest like it’s about to explode or something. He’s completely _at lost_ about that matter because _what the hell, is he sick?_ Does he have some terminal illness that only activates whenever he’s near with the busker or whenever he hears that song?

 _Well, that’s fine_ , he snorted as his fingers lightly skimmed over the slightly raised skin of his scars—feeling the imperfectness of the once flawless wrist, the bumps and cuts he had made throughout the years— _at least I’ll die sooner._

Anyways, he realize that being close to the _uhm_ good-looking street performer is like a _double edged knife_ to Taka’s fragile heart—it has all the nice feelings, sure, but it’s also full of _confusing_ thoughts, of _sudden chest pains_ , and this weird urge to just go in front of him and talk about something— _about anything._

So even if Taka always, _always_ makes a complete _fool_ of himself whenever he dash away like _he’s running for his life_ , he still ended up seeing— _watching_ —the guitarist in the busy streets of Shibuya.

“But, not tonight…” Taka muttered as he glanced at the mirror in front of him. He’s wearing a full suit for a party hosted by his parents somewhere in Shinjuku and despite blatantly displaying his hatred for public appearance, he still can’t say no to his father.

**_Because you’re a coward._ **

Because there’s nothing good that will ever came out of his stubbornness.

**_You’re just afraid to fight._ **

_At least I’m trying to still live, what more do you ask for?_

**_Live for yourself idiot._ **

Taka forced a smile on his face, combing his hair back with his fingers before he realized how _tight,_ how _formal,_ how _fake_ the smile looks on his face. He frowned, arranged his tie, and went out of the room.

_It’s too late for that anyways, asshole._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Several days—almost two weeks passed the way they usually did, but something definitely change since meeting the young man across the street _. Something_ changed, _like a breath of fresh air in this polluted and over-populated city_ , that makes Toru’s hours tick by with ease and make a smile crawls on his lips even if there’s really nothing to smile for.

He’ll wake up every morning, went through his notes and things to make sure he didn’t forget anything before going to the university through his bicycle— _the only means of transportation, aside from bus and train rides, that he can afford_ —smiling bright and wide as he rode through the streets. He would then drop to his first part time job, eat a light dinner—that usually consists of reheated _kombini_ -bought food and coffee—before leaving his things at home, picking up his guitar case and staring at the jar almost full of paper bills and coins.

 _It’s almost full_ , he said to no one in particular, smiling because he’ll get to buy the stuffs he’s planning to buy and he’s gonna meet the strange teenager again tonight.

And so he went out, choosing to walk rather than to ride the bicycle in fear of getting self-accidents because of the slippery roads—wondering why the snow is falling even harder tonight than the past nights of the week.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Turns out that there’s a storm somewhere that makes the snow fall like ashes, relentlessly, burying everything in its white, chilly confines. And Toru was too _dumb,_ too _naïve_ to think that the boy would show up even in this kind of weather.

He’d been so eager to go to his usual spot where he would play, and wait for the young man to appear, listen intently then leave like Toru’s hunting him or something. He would arrive at the spot, play his guitar— _the cheerful and melodic tunes softly begging the passersby’s to drop in some money_ —and even a bit of coins make his heart flutter in happiness. He would usually mutter out a gracious word of gratitude then would resume playing again, _waiting and searching_ , until the young man arrives.

 _Like a routine_ —that’s how they spent the previous nights.

Like an _unspoken promise_ to meet each other at that exact spot.

No one _speaks_ , no one _talks_ , no one wants to break the _comfortable silence_ wherein the other is playing with _all his heart_ and the other is listening with _all his soul._

And Toru thought that they have the _same thoughts, the same feeling._

Apparently, _they’re not._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Because he had stood there, under the shed of a closed shop, playing somberly while looking out far in the streets—his eyes following _every_ new person that crosses the street, searching, yearning, _hoping_ that it was the young man—but hours ticked by and not even the boy’s shadow was found.

_It’s getting late too._

He glanced at his watch, the hand almost striking at midnight, and that’s when he realized what he’s been denying all night long.

_He’s not coming._

_And why would he?_

He doesn’t have any _obligation_ to Toru, after all.

He’s just a _random passerby_ who couldn’t even drop a coin despite his obvious interest in Toru’s performance, and Toru is just an _ordinary busker_ , almost begging everyone to donate some money or something.

_Why would he?_

Toru deeply sighed, warm air escaping his lips forming puffs around him—he knows that, he’s perfectly aware of that, but—

_But, why does it hurts so much?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He was about to zip his guitar case shut, the coins and bills stuffed under the guitar itself, when a taxi abruptly pulled over in front of his spot.

_What the fu—_

His mind immediately went into worst-case scenario because what if it’s some _yakuza_ or something and _they’re about to kidnap Toru to sell his internal organs to the black market?!_ Or what if they’re the police force who’s about to haul his ass to jail for making profits without applying for business permit—

“Oh shit, I made it!”

—when the door opened and someone— _someone familiar_ —practically dives out of the taxi. Toru’s jaws dropped wide open as he stared up at the boy who’s looking a bit older because of the black suit he’s wearing. He must have looked totally ridiculous because the young man stared down at him with an _equally shocked face_ like it’s the first time they saw each other after a long time or something.

“Err,” the teen said, glancing at the guitar inside his case, instantly looking _crestfallen and disappointed_ in a matter of seconds, “You’re already…leaving..?”

Toru was too busy ogling the young man with an _open-mouthed astonishment_ that it took more moments to process whatever he had said. Well _, of course_ he’s leaving. It’s already late and there is lesser number of people walking down the streets in this weather so he really would leave and snuggle under his blankets at home.

But…

_He’s here…_

_Disheveled,_ practically threw himself out of the car, and letting the snow _ruined_ his pristine and expensive-looking suit just to catch Toru’s performance.

He’s been late— _four hour—late actually_ —but now...

_He’s here…_

And that’s what _all that matters_ to Toru at the moment.

 _Never mind_ the chilly night, _never mind_ the darkness stretching beyond them, _never mind_ the snow falling onto their forms.

_If he wants me to play, then I will._

Toru’s slightly quivering lips stretched into what he hopes to be a welcoming, warm smile, as he carefully plucked the instrument out of the case again. He placed the guitar on his lap again and smiled up at him in confirmation, “No, I’m—,” suddenly, Toru became nervous because this is the first time that they would _actually talk_ to each other and _god knows how he don’t want to botch it up or something_ —, “I’m actually waiting for you…”

Both of their eyes widened at that.

_Oh, fuck._

_Way to **not** botch it up, Toru_ , he mentally groaned.

_Fucking hell._

“That’s _creepy_ ,” the boy mumbled but took a few steps forward nonetheless, eyeing him for a moment before shyly averting his gaze, “So, you’re gonna play or what?”

_Oh, ouch._

“Uhm,” Toru nervously scratched the back of his head, “Is there a song you wanna hear or..?”

_What the hell._

_He’s not even giving you money for playing and here you are asking him on what would you play for him?_

The boy’s nose scrunched up as he thought for a while. He’s clearly not dressed for the outdoors, as Toru can see him slightly shivering but he didn’t made any comment on it in fear of angering the kid. He’s wearing a nice suit perfect for parties. It’s obviously made of high-quality fabric and undoubtedly expensive but still, it can’t keep the boy’s body warm for longer.

“I don’t know…” he mumbled after a while, “Just play the usual, you know…?”

Oh, Toru _perfectly knows_ the song he’s pertaining to.

“What song?” he asked, just to hear _more_ of that voice.

The man made obvious sounds of annoyance, grumbling to himself, before he suddenly started humming. There were no words spoken by those red lips but Toru can immediately recognize the tune he’s humming, and it amazes him how this kid remembers _every rift, every change of pace, everything about the song._

“You...” he said, looking up at the now blushing to death young man, “You can sing?”

“That’s called _humming_ , idiot.”

“Oh,” Toru frowned, “But I think that your voice is pretty enough to sing,” he said, smiling when the blush on the boy’s cheeks went redder than ever, “I’m Toru by the way. And you are?”

The man just _blankly_ stared at him.

“Why do you care?” he asked with a cautious frown as he assessed Toru from head to toe.

“I’d like to know the name of my favorite listener,” he smoothly said, strumming the strings to test it out.

“WHAT.”

“Anyways,” he chuckled _nervously,_ praying that the kid won’t go running away again, “Let’s start, ne? Don’t you want to come closer? You’re gonna ruin your clothes if you stay in the open like that…” he gestured for the soak suit then to the empty spot beside him.

The boy stared at him with wide eyes before he finally took small, _hesitant_ steps towards the guitarist and plopped down beside him without any care for his expensive clothing or something.

Toru felt quite satisfied at that. He smiled, and started playing—the sounds breaking the _stillness_ of the streets with melodious chords and sweet harmonies, carried away by the chilling breeze. While Toru is nodding, his body swaying sideways in tune with the rhythm, he still— _subtly_ —kept his eyes on the boy sitting beside him.

He had pulled his legs towards his chest, hugged them with shaking hands and rested his cheek on the top of his knees as he watched Toru’s calloused fingers skillfully sliding and plucking the strings. Toru’s eyes trailed to the boy’s face as he played, admiring the warm, dark eyes partly hidden by thick, moist lashes. His eyebrows were drawn together, as if he’s thinking hard about something—his nose, red from the cold, twitches as he did so. His cheeks were red, decorated by moles that even made him cuter, and looks so soft. And his lips— _those supple looking pair of lips parted so slightly_ , moving against each other as if he’s singing a song which he’s the only one who knows.

_I wonder what he’s singing?_

_Is he singing lyrics about my melodies?_

Toru wanted to hear it, badly— _desperately_ —as he continued playing along, watching the boy’s calm face _shamelessly._

“Takahiro…”

Toru smiled and looked directly at his eyes when he suddenly spoke, “Hmmm?”

“That’s my name. Takahiro,” he said, hesitating for a moment before shyly peering up at him again, “ _Just_ Takahiro.”

It was spoken in a soft voice, _barely above a whisper_ , but the name reminds Toru of _nobleness_ , of _greatness_ and of _prosperity._

Suddenly, he found their surroundings _unfitting_ for this obviously rich-looking young man.

The snow that fell on the pavement and all around the streets was too cold and the thick clouds above them were so dense, dark and obscuring the moon and stars beyond. The streets were cold, almost in monotone and the only warmth that can be found was the street lamps that emits burst of gold, scattered along the road and the few shops which are still opened this late at night.

It wasn’t right— _wasn’t fitting_ —but it was still _beautiful._

Especially the way the boy’s face seemed to glow in the little dim lights despite the pout on his lips, and how he just sat there, _ignoring the black and white world across them_ , as he listens to Toru as if he’s the center of his world or something.

“Takahiro,” he repeated, testing the name on his tongue and was pleased when it came out easily, skillfully— _like he had known this boy from a long, long time ago_ , “What a pretty name…”

Takahiro’s almond-shaped eyes grew wide in surprise as his cheeks heat up, blushing more furiously than ever before, “D-don’t fuck with me asshole!” he snapped before abruptly standing up and shaking the snow from his clothes, “You’re _creepy_!”

Toru glanced up, watching as the young man huffs in annoyance, “Says the boy who’s always staring at me from a distance!”

To his utter amusement, the boy’s cheeks even heated up, his eyes narrowed in contempt as he practically explode in embarrassment, “A-am no—! _Argh!_ What the fuck ever!” he barked, “I’m not a _stalker_ dammit!”

_Who says you’re a stalker?!_

But even before Toru can say that aloud, the smaller boy was already running away from him— _his coat fluttering behind him_ —but not without glancing over his shoulders to flash a dirty finger at Toru and sticking out his tongue in a childish manner, “I hope you fucking freeze to death, _old man_!”

Toru wanted to say that he’s not that old but he’s to mesmerized with the sight— _too focused on Takahiro’s face_ —that he did nothing but to stare at his frame until he was out of sight. Toru blinked, realizing that the boy had just left again without giving any yen to him—but he doesn’t know if he’s disappointed by that or by the fact that their precious moment just ended as quick as that.

_Maybe…_

Toru glanced at his beloved guitar, smiled, before putting it back to the safe confines of its case.

 _Maybe we can see and talk to each other from now, ne…?_ He silently wishes before standing up and trudge towards the direction of his unit. It was cold, sure, but Toru went home with a warm , satisfied feeling blooming within his chest.

_That Takahiro sure is a strange boy, huh?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

Thinking back… It was on that chilly night… _That I probably have fallen in love…_

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. WORDS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably lied on only having 2 parts. I've written an initial draft for this even before the holidays but Taka and Toru won't fucking behave and shits so it ended up longer than expected. The 3rd part will hopefully be the end and will show us why Toru-san is busking and what would happen to Taka and someshits.
> 
> This is also kind of repetitive. I'm not really...fond of this chapter for god knows what reason. It seems shallow, too many plot holes and fast-paced, and the characters are too much OOC. Damn.
> 
> Anyways, on with the story~!
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and the actions and words of the characters involved in this work of fiction are all just a product of my imagination. All mistakes and incoherencies are mine.

Takahiro didn’t show up the next day; and that made Toru to _slightly_ worry for the young man’s well-being. Slightly because it’s completely _weird_ to be worried sick for someone you just randomly met in the streets, right?

 _But hey_ , Takahiro showed up the day after and he should really be thankful and ecstatic as fuck to arrive at his usual place and found the rich kid standing on his spot, leaning against the bare, concrete wall of a shop and with both of his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat.

Toru’s quivering lips broke into a gleeful smile as his steps went faster— _quicker_ —just to reach Takahiro. But when he’s just almost a few feet away, his legs halted on their own as he stared at the sight in front of him.

Takahiro is looking far across the street, giving Toru the best view of the side of his face—red-tinted cheeks, tall nose, and full lips—and _the ugly purplish mark near his jaw._

_What THE HELL._

It was of pale color— _like it’s already fading_ —and the yellow street lights doesn’t even help in concealing it from Toru’s view. He’s never been into brawls nor been slapped by his parents but Toru is not that dumb to not realize that something’s _wrong_ —that Takahiro is suffering from some kind of mistreatment—and that Toru should do _something_ about it.

_M-maybe…_

Maybe the girl— _was that her girlfriend, by the way?—_ just slapped him during one of their arguments? Couples normally do that, right? And based on what Toru had witnessed weeks ago, the two look like they’re constantly going for each other’s throat.

_I mean, Takahiro looks like he’s easy to get bored with stuffs and the girl looks like an attention-whore so…_

Toru frowned at that thought, not really liking his train of thoughts. What if Takahiro gets bored by watching him play his guitar every night? What if he got used, and finds Toru’s skill unnotable and leave—without ever going back this time?

Well…

Toru liked his chapped lips at that, _that would definitely hurts like hell._

He’s sure that—even if he doesn’t know the exact reason why—there’s nothing good in thinking of the myriads of possibilities for the future and more importantly—

_Takahiro looks so vulnerable right now._

Like he’s made of _delicate, expensive glass_ and that one wrong move, one wrong touch can send him shattering into thousands of pieces.

And Toru _didn’t want_ that.

So he just roughly exhaled, and pulled the brightest smile he can muster—no matter how ridiculous it probably looks on his _always-bored-looking_ face and briskly walked towards the oblivious young man.

“Hey!”

“Gah!” Takahiro yelped when Toru decided to give him a surprise, “What the fuck?! Do you want to scare me to death or something?!” he asked, putting a hand over his heaving chest.

Toru let out an amused smirk at that—his heavily lidded eyes shamelessly roaming on the flustered look on Takahiro’s face, “Eh…” he started, nervously scratching the back of his head, “I’m just surprised that you arrived here even before me…”

Takahiro blankly stared up at him.

“You’re _surprised_ to see me…” he slowly said, his almond-shaped eyes narrowing into slits, “and you decided to what, give me a heart attack or something, you dimwitted-fool?”

“But you didn’t die!”

“Well, do you _want_ me to?!”

“Hell, no!” Toru sheepishly smiled—sending silent apology at the fuming teen, “Besides, you look like you’re lost in your own world so…did…” Toru gulped, noticing how Takahiro’s mouth formed a thin line— _obviously showing his displeasure about the topic_ —, “did something happened..?”

Takahiro scowled, averting his gaze and unconsciously displaying the bruise on his jaw, “Why the fuck would you care? We’re _not even friends_ ,” he venomously spat.

“ _Maa_ , yeah, but…” Toru’s throat decided to clench painfully as he subtly inspected the bruise—it’s not that big but it’s purple and yellowish on the edges and definitely hurts like a motherfucker so Takahiro sure is great on hiding the pain like that, “…I’m just…”

_What?_

His mind sharply asked—at the same moment when the other teen casted him a dirty, questioning look. Like he’s challenging him to say something— _say anything_ —and that Toru should really, _really_ pick his words carefully or he might lose Takahiro for _real._

_No matter how weird that sounds._

“…worried,” he finally continued, wincing when the teen glared at him in full force, “besides, you have a bruise on your—,”

“Shut up,” Takahiro hissed as he immediately raised his hand to cover the injured side of his face, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But—,”

“If I want some counseling then I would go to my fucking therapist,” he scoffed.

Therapist?

_What—_

“And if you’re not gonna play for tonight, then fucking tell me so I can go home!” he snapped, making Toru’s eyes widened in disbelief.

_Wow._

Did this midget just _indirectly_ ordered him to play for him? And did he just threatened— _albeit indirectly_ —that he’s gonna leave if Toru will not start strumming his guitar ASAP?

Wow.

_Just…wow._

Well, the interrogation can probably wait. Besides, Takahiro looks like the type of guy who wouldn’t let himself get beaten nor mistreated without putting up a huge fight, so…

_Maybe it’s nothing._

_He’s a grown man,_ Toru thought as he sighed, opening the case and carefully plucking his precious guitar from it, _he can handle his own problems right?_

Right.

And so, Toru played the same song— _the song that Takahiro favors so much—_ throughout the entire night, with the silent teen sitting, watching— _listening intently_ by his side.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Takahiro scowled as he stared at his reflection on the mirror. The bruise is already fading, but Toru-san— _was that his name?—_ still notice it last night.

It was the reason why he didn’t showed up the other day. His father has been furious when he magically vanished from the party just to _what_ —listens and exchange conversation with a busker. So when he went home—he had a mixture of satisfaction, warmth ( _because he finally had the chance to talk to the busker_ ) and fear for the consequences of his actions—he was rather surprised to see his father standing in front of their door.

Like he’s been waiting for Taka’s arrival _right from the start._

He really couldn’t remember the exact things that happened—well, aside from the sickening sound of palm hitting his face and the sudden stinging on his jaws.

There were shouts that sounded like _“I’m not your goddamned puppet!”_ and _“As long as you’re living in my house, you will obey me!”_ but he’s not really sure because he’s feeling shit and frustrated.

The happiness and warmth that was slowly blossoming within his chest just a few minutes ago was instantly replaced with _loathing,_ with _resentment,_ and with this cold and dark urge to just _end it all._

But he couldn’t.

So he just slept the day away and sneaked out last night just to see the busker. And that’s the exact thing that he will be doing— _again_ —for tonight. _And the next ones._

It’s just a bit of happiness.

He scanned his frowning face on the mirror before snorting and moving away from his reflection.

There’s nothing wrong in wanting and taking it for myself, right?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Say, busker-san—,”

“I already told you, my name’s Toru—,”

“—Toru-san,” Taka said, pulling his knees towards his chest. The busker decided to change location for tonight. He waited for Taka in their— _wait, when did it became THEIR_ —usual spot in the sidewalks before choosing another suitable place to busk. He chose the park near a shopping center so here they are, sitting on an old wooden bench, waiting for coins and bills to land on the guitar case lying beside the guitarist’s feet.

“You’re not a homeless man, are you?” he asked, his eyes looking far across them and to the array of Gingko tree illuminated by hundreds of golden Christmas lights.

Toru-san glanced at him yet his hands didn’t waver on strumming the taught strings of his guitar, “Why? Do I look like a homeless guy to you?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Ouch.”_

“Well, you look like shit—,”

“Wow. _Double ouch_ ,” the guitarist blandly said, making Taka suddenly feel horrible and shit. He’s new with this—with interacting to people who’s obviously out of his social circle, so he’s easily worried that he had just offended the man.

“I mean, you’re wearing old and faded clothes and you’re busking every night so…” he shrugged.

_Way to fuck up your conversations, Taka._

_You’re such a genius. Terrific genius, honestly._

But to his immense relief, Toru-san didn’t look anything close to being offended. Instead, a deep chuckle reverberated from his chest as he stopped playing and simply perched the heavy acoustic guitar on his lap.

“But I can’t really play in the streets wearing a shiny, leather jacket so…” he said, a teasing smile playing on his thin lips, “I’m not a homeless person, Takahiro—,”

“Taka inwardly shivered at the way Toru-san had uttered his name with that deep baritone of his.

“—and why are you even asking that?” he asked, his dead –looking eyes glinting in mischief, “If I’m indeed homeless, would you _adopt_ me and let me live in your house, huh?”

He snorted at that, “As if I have my own house, anyway.”

Toru-san let out a gasp of disbelief, “What—don’t tell me that,” he precariously hanged his words into the air, making Taka looked up at his cheekily-grinning face in impatience.

“WHAT?”

“—that you’re _actually_ the homeless one—,”

“I’m not!” he snapped, as he straightened out his legs to let the blood properly circulate, “I bet I’m richer than you, you asshole!”

That was one of the weird things that Taka had notice ever since they’ve started talking. They’re casually bantering— _throwing insults and muttering curses_ —as if they’ve been friends _for years._ They’ve just met a few weeks ago, had a conversation a few days ago and yet they’re already calling each other an idiot, an asshole, and a bastard without getting offended.

Seriously.

_How fucked up is that?!_

“You’re saying that, Toru-san snorted in amusement, his fingers picking up the notes where he stopped playing earlier, “But you never even gave a single yen to me…” he mumbled in feigned hurt.

Taka almost swallowed his tongue at that.

_Well, what the fuck._

This shit has a decent point!

He didn’t give any coin even if he’s listening to Toru-san’s music for hours and hours—almost every night—and all he did was run the fuck away because of mortification!

_Fucking hell._

Taka rolled his eyes in annoyance before he cleared his throat and spoke in a suddenly hushed manner, “I would love to give some yen to you…”

“Uh-huh,” Toru-san didn’t sound like he’s convinced, making Taka to inwardly cringed.

“Seriously! But do you…” he said, gulping in nervousness and a bit of embarrassment, “do you accept…cards?”

…

Toru-san’s hands instantly went still at that, plunging their surroundings in a relative silence as the air was filled with awkwardness and tension. The guitarist regarded him with wide disbelieving eyes with so much intensity that Taka had to swallow audibly, his eyes widening on their own— _both in fear and insecurity_ —when Toru-san’s large eyes stared at him—

And stared at him _more._

Like he’s assessing if Taka was telling a shitty joke or if it’s about damn time to kick him out of his life or someshit.

And it’s getting to Taka’s nerves especially when those bored-looking eyes landed their gaze on his partly open lips, his confused face reflected on the guitarist’s dark, dark eyes—before Toru-san blinked out of his stupor and just sighed in exasperation, making Taka pout in _disappointment._

For what?

_Disappointment for what?_

“Damn you rich bastards…” Toru-san muttered, making Taka scowled—his mind easily forgetting the somewhat hungry—longing—look on Toru-san’s eyes earlier—and accidentally kicked the guitarist’s shin.

“Ack! That hurts!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Another omiai, huh?_

Taka shrugged and tossed the folder containing the details and information about the girl he’s about to meet this time.

It’s not like he’ll attend it anyway so why bother reading boring stuffs about a random girl his parents have picked for him?

Besides, he got a more important thing to do right now before sneaking out later for tonight. Taka snorted and lifted the lid of the box he purchased in a craft store earlier—revealing a set of long, thick needles gleaming menacingly under the harsh white light of his desk lamp.

_This will do…_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I’m a university student,” Toru-san suddenly blurted out of nowhere that night. They’re on the bench in the park, shaded by the leafless branches of a Sakura tree while they do their own stuff—Toru-san playing the wordless songs with his guitar, his body swaying along every melody, while Taka is humming, along with the now-familiar tune, busying himself on watching tutorials on his phone.

That statement made him look up from his phone, his eyes blinking rapidly in confusion, “You’re what?” he spat.

“I’m a university student,” Toru-san nodded and smiled at a passerby who tossed some bills on the leather case, “I’m an engineering student.”

Taka openly gawked at the man sitting beside him, but for an entirely different reason— _sure it’s great that he’s studying engineering in a university when Taka can barely do fundamental math_ —but what he’s actually more surprised is that—

“How _old_ are you, Toru-san?!” he asked with a high-pitched tone, “Don’t tell me that you’re still a _minor_?!”

“WHAT,” the guitarist snapped his gaze at him in confusion, “Of course _not_ —,”

Taka let out a breath of relief at that because he’ll definitely freak out if he’ll discover that this constantly stressed-looking guy is actually younger than he looks—

“—I’m 19!”

“Gah!”

He almost fell flat on his face when Toru-san declared his real age, “What the—that’s a lie!”

“Uso janai!” Toru hotly defended, “Do I look like I’m 25 to you, huh?!”

“You look like _35 to me, ossan!”_ Taka shrieked, pulling his legs towards his chest to protect himself when the guitarist acted like he’s gonna punch his silly face for guessing wrong about his age.

Toru-san didn’t hit him but huffed in indignation as he stopped playing to cross his arms over his chest in a sulking manner, “ _Maa_ , at least I’m not a _teenager_ who roams late at night!”

“Take that back, you ossan!” Taka hollered, his cheeks burning red under the golden lights of the streets, as he pointed an accusatory finger towards the shocked guitarist, “I’m not a teenager!”

“WHAT.”

“I’m already 21 dammit!”

“WHAT,” Toru-san dumbly repeated because he’s probably that surprised to know Taka’s real age, “ _Uso_!”

“I’m not lying!’

“But—but you look like you’re 15!”

“Say that again and I’ll slap you with my shoe!” he threatened, making Toru-san warily glanced at his _perfectly-polished_ shoes.

A tensed, awkward silence fell upon them. Taka can clearly hear the noise of the bustling crowd across them, the sound of people chattering about the upcoming Christmas and the shrine preparation for the _Hatsumode_.

It was so full of _lights,_ full of _vibrance,_ full of _life._

And it makes Taka wonder— _where on earth_ was he to miss this sight? This pretty, lively sight to behold with someone beside you—laughing, playing music, bantering with you?

Well, probably _inside his bathroom_ , slashing his wrists in a desperate attempt to _feel something_ —to feel that he’s still _somewhat alive_ , and not just a walking corpse.

Taka scoffed at that memory.

After a long, long while Toru-san finally spoke—but not after loudly clearing his throat, “So…you’re _older_ than me..?”

“Do the math, asshole.” He snorted, “21 have always been greater than 19 remember?”

“Well…” the guitarist drawled, looking at his open palms—which Taka gladly surveyed, especially the black fingerless gloves that the guitarist is wearing. It looks so old and some threads are even coming loose on the edges, “…fuck.”

_How would I measure the size of his hands anyway?_

“How do you think we look on the public’s eyes, Takahiro?” he softly asked again.

Taka whipped his gaze up to look at the guitarist’s frowning face as his mind desperately tried to form a coherent answer, “Probably an _old dude_ wanting to hit on an _underage boy_ , Toru-san.”

…

…

They suddenly jumped on their asses, inching away from each other and creating a wide, open space between them.

Then their gazes meet each other’s—Taka seeing his reflection again on the same obsidian eyes—and burst into loud, lively fits of laughter.

It’s as if they’re the only ones in that place—laughing at something that is not even funny in the first place—ignoring the odd looks spared the strangers, the drone of car engines in the distance and the various sounds around them.

At that moment of pure glee—that span of minutes of snickering like idiots in the open air—Takahiro was glad that he’s alive.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taka was welcomed with a resounding slap on his cheek, a few hits here and there and a shower of  words of disappointment, about him being an _ultimate disgrace_ to their family— _the usual stuffs_. He would really _love_ to retaliate and just fight back but he’s too _tired_ to think, too _numb_ to feel, and too _fed up_ with the same things that keep on happening over and over again. So he just accepted it all, without letting a single sound nor grunt of pain from his lips.

Then he punched the wall— _breaking the skin of his knuckles in the process_ —before retreating to the solace of his room.

He would usually slash on his wrists after a fighting session with his parents, like now, but _not tonight._

He’s busy interlacing thick threads—imitating the instructions he saw on countless tutorial videos earlier to knit a glove from them. Unfortunately, he’s doing _a rather_ poor job at that and his hurt is still hurting like a bitch but he won’t give.

_He’ll never give up._

_Toru-san better appreciate this or else, I’ll shove this down into his throat!_ Taka grunted as he lose himself into knitting a pair of gloves for the guitarist, his nimble finger working shakily as he hums his favorite tune.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Too bad that he couldn’t show his face the next day. Taka would really love to hang-out with the guitarist—like what they’ve been doing these past few nights—but his face looks like a _rotten tomato_ with splotches of red and purple here and there so showing up— _and unintentionally making the handsome busker worry for him_ —is out of the question.

Besides, he can feel his world quickly getting smaller. _Sooner or later_ , his father would know that he’s sneaking out—and ditching important family events and marriage interviews—just to see a poor-looking busker in the streets. His father would surely be livid at that and would definitely cut off his allowances so Taka should make a move before the old man disowns him for real.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Takahiro didn’t showed up last night— _making Toru worried as fuck_ —and give the last time he didn’t came, he’s already starting to draw a conclusion on the rich-kid’s absence this time.

He didn’t really want to accept it.

But when he arrived at the bench they’ve usually hanging out in the past nights, and saw Takahiro’s face—his heart instantly wanted to explode out of his chest.

_Someone is hurting him._

Toru’s hand clutched the strap of his guitar case so tightly that his knuckles started to get white as he stared at the young man’s face—there are several discolorations on the lower side which weren’t hidden even by the scarf that covers half of his youthful face.

_Someone is hurting Takahiro._

He suddenly felt so angry, so frustrated that he’s assaulted by this strange urge to punch something, to punch someone— _preferably the person who hurt **his** Takahiro_ —but he couldn’t do anything.

_Even if he wants to._

The man obviously don’t want to talk about it and Toru is scared— _a huge coward_ —to insist on asking, in fear that Takahiro would just walk away in irritation.

So…

So even if Takahiro is obviously hurting, _even if someone is obviously making his life a hell,_ Toru just pulled a fake— _blatantly forced_ —smile on his lips as he stalked towards the waiting man. He wanted to either turn away and run from the feelings squeezing his heart or dashing towards the man, and hug him to oblivion while saying to him that everything’s alright, that Toru would protect him and that he doesn’t have to take any more beating but he can’t.

He couldn’t.

And there’s nothing more painful than that—there’s nothing more heart-wrenching than _wanting to do something but being unable to do anything to achieve it._

Besides, how can he crumbled under those thoughts, when Takahiro—despite the bruises on his formerly flawless skin—is still looking forward, rubbing his strangely gloved hands for warmth as he stared where Toru usually came from. How can Toru look away, when Takahiro’s eyes are bright, shining—a huge contrast in the purples and red marks on his creamy cheeks—as he softly bounced on the balls of his feet, a back pack sling across his back, as if he’s excited to see Toru.

And that sight, _no matter how painful it is_ , was enough for Toru. Because no matter how frustrating it felt, he just smiled, for that’s the only thing he can do without putting Takahiro in further distress.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taka was glad that the guitarist didn’t ask any questions, even after the countless times that he subtly glanced at Taka’s bruise-ridden face. He’s glad that Toru-san is not prying into his business, into his life, and instead talked and played the guitar for him casually as if he’s not obviously dying to ask about how Taka got his injuries.

_As if I’ll tell you, asshole._

He scoffed, hugging the huge backpack resting on his lap as he listened to the familiar melody that Toru-san is making. He haven’t’ had the chance to ask  why Toru-san didn’t have any lyrics for his songs but his mind is already forming lyrics— _words for Toru-san’s notes_ —on its own.

 _I wanna dance like no one’s_ , Taka’s brows knitted as he think of a good word, _me…_

 _I wanna hmmmm like it’s the only_ —he wanted to laugh at his pathetic attempt but continued nonetheless as Toru-san strummed the strings with enthusiastic vigor.

_I wanna laugh from the bottom of my heart_

_I wanna sing like every single note and word it’s all for you_

He instantly stopped at that. For who?

Whatever. It’s not like he’s good at anything—at composing—anyways so he just snorted and turned towards the busker who’s playing like he’s lost in his own little world again.

“Hey, Toru-san,” he began, his voice slightly muffled by the dark blue scarf wrapped around his shoulders, “You’re not a homeless person, right?”

The guitarist glanced down at him—trying and obviously failing to prevent his eyes from landing onto his bruises, “I already told you, I’m not. I live in a small LDK apartment…”

Taka let out a sigh of relief at that.

He needed a place to stay— _just for tonight—_ and someone who would keep the stuffs he have in his back pack for him. He decided that Toru-san would be perfect for the job.

He went to the bank earlier—withdrawing every single yen on his account—just to be sure. His father won’t be able to freeze his money if he doesn’t have any remaining cent in his cards, right?

_He can’t control me anymore…_

But he needs to hide it somewhere else, somewhere far from his father’s clutches—somewhere safe, somewhere where he could easily go when he needs it.

“That’s nice,” he mumbled, awkwardly looking up at the guitarist who’s eyeing him with confusion and worry, “Because I’m wondering if I…if I can stay at your place for tonight?”

He cringed when Toru-san’s jaw hanged wide open upon hearing that.

“I-I’ve already eaten!” he hastily explained when the taller teen just keeps on starting at him, “so you don’t have to worry about feeding me! I can also eat in a fast-food tomorrow, so…” he shrugged, his eyes darting towards his black shoes that are partly covered with snow.

Maybe Toru-san would not let him. No sane man would really allow a _stranger_ in his home, right? Tokyo these days isn’t that safe in the first place so it’s reasonable that the busker would doubt his intentions…

Toru-san stared at him— _more_ —before sighing, puffs of white air escaping his thin lips, “You don’t really have to explain anything,” he said, “I’ll welcome you in my humble abode anytime—,” Taka grinned widely at that.

“—but I have to go somewhere tomorrow,” Toru-san’s eyes widened when he visibly slumped in disappointment at the rather indirect rejection, “So— _wait, don’t cry_!”

“I’m not crying!” he sniffled.

“ _Mou_!” Toru-san shook his head in disbelief before he stood up to stretch his cramped muscles, “I was about to say that you’ll have to come with me tomorrow—that is if you don’t want to be alone in my unit the entire day?”

Taka huffed, subtly wiping the tears that stubbornly formed at the corner of his eyes. Whether they’re from getting rejected earlier or because of happiness and relief that he wouldn’t be sleeping in some random hotels for tonight, he doesn’t know anymore.

It’s not like he cares anyway.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, looking graciously up at him, “I’ll come with you if you’ll let me stay…”

That obviously made the guitarist happy— _I mean just look at his fucking face looking as bright as the Christmas lights mou!_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Toru can’t help himself as an _overly-ecstatic_ smile spread across his lips the entire time they’re walking towards the apartment complex where university students like him lives. His guitar strapped safely in his back, the coins jiggling and creating a symphony of their own with his every step, while Takahiro is huffing, obviously having difficulty in carrying the huge back pack on his bag.

But he wouldn’t allow Toru to carry it since _he’s a man, and a man carries his own stuff or something._

So Toru just let it go.

Besides, his mind is busy on figuring out why would an obviously rich man like Takahiro would want to crash at his place— _I mean, they’re just practically strangers to each other who just began talking a few days ago_ —but fuck if Toru actually cares. All that matter to him right now is that he can spend more time with the young man—and the fact that he can make him feel safe, feel secured, and free from injuries, _even for just a night._

Takahiro is _his_ the entire night.

And that thought—no matter how fucked up it sounds makes him _grin like a fool_ , even if he’s already failing to find the right key to open his unit.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Takahiro asked, sounding offended, beside him. His curious eyes darting everywhere, taking everything he can see like he’s in a museum or something. Toru hummed and grunted in response, pushing the door open—the eerie sound of loose screws slicing the silence of the night in that part of the building.

“Do I look like I’m smiling, _hmmm_?”

“You look like a psychotic maniac.”

“Ouch,” he muttered, pulling his shoes off and gestured for Takahiro to do the same, “You really should work on your _brutal honesty_ or else, you won’t make any friends, Takahiro.”

“I have friends!”

“ _Sure_ ,” he snorted in return before padding into his unit, “Whatever you say, Takahiro.”

The young man looked up from untying the laces of his shoes, “What’s with that tone, huh?!”

“Nothing _. Nothing_.”

“Liar!”

“Am not!” he insisted, chuckling even if the teen is sharply glaring at him from the small genkan, “Seriously, hurry up and close the door. I’ll start the heater so you’ll be warm, ne?”

To Toru’s shock, Takahiro just blinked up at him in confusion— _like he just heard him speak in Greek or something equally indecipherable._

“What do you mean by start the heater, Toru-san?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That night, Toru painfully learned how _vast_ the distance is between the worlds where they grew up. Apparently, Takahiro lives in a western-styled house with a heating system running beneath the floor so he doesn’t have a clue that small, normal-looking heaters _actually exists._

“I can see your entire unit from here, Toru-san,” Takahiro wondered out loud making Toru flinched in annoyance as he poured hot water into two mismatched cups for tea—the only warm drink  in his unit that he can offer to  the bocchan sitting in his living area, “don’t you have any secret door to your actual unit?”

“This is my _actual_ unit,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Eh?!” much to Toru’s annoyance, the rich kid gasped in genuine surprise as he looked around the messy unit, “I thought that this is some kind of storage or working area—,” he instantly slapped a hand over his mouth when Toru sent sharp, warning glares at him, “ _G-go men_ —,”

“Shut up.”

“I really thought that—,”

“Shut _UP_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They spent the next minutes in an awkward silence as they slowly sipped the warm green tea that Toru-san graciously prepared earlier. Toru-san is currently busying himself with cleaning the floor off the loads of papers and blue prints that covered the expanse of it. And just by looking at the shit-ton of numbers and formulas written on the sheets makes Taka’s hurts _like hell._

Besides, he even annoyed his host by his— _what did Toru-san called it earlier?_ —brutal honesty. It’s not like he really have any idea on how apartment unit looks. The place is messy and is really just a room with a kitchen and toilet and bathroom so he thought that it’s just a place where Toru-san would do the dirty chores or _something._

 _Way to be a good guest_ , Taka’s mind blandly said as he sat in front if a small, circular low table in perfect seiza position. His parents had taught him enough to behave when he’s in someone else’s house—even if they’re just a bunch of shitty old persons. So he behaved, watching every movement of the guitarist with wide curious eyes.

He did that for a few minutes, staring at the strong, reliable-looking back and shoulders of the university student, until his gaze landed on an opened box in a corner. There were stuffed toys and small clothes, probably for a child, peeking on its edges.

Does Toru-san have siblings living here?

Or…

_Wait._

“Do you already have a child, Toru-san?” he blurted out. Toru-san’s head snapped at him at that. He looks so shocked that the stack of papers he’s been arranging for a while now slipped past his clutches, while gawking at Taka.

“WHAT?” he asked in a hoarse voice, “What the hell? _Are you high_? Where did you even got that idea, you dumbass?”

Taka fidgeted uncomfortably on his knees under the scathing gaze of the guitarist, “ _Maa,_ you have a box of toys there,” he pointed the box innocently lying in the corner, “I thought that you have kids, unless you’re…” he then smiled, teasingly, up at him, “unless _you’re the one_ who’s actually playing the—Gah!”

Taka yelped when a piece of crumpled paper was flung against his grinning face.

“That’s not mine!” Toru-san scowled, jerking a thumb towards the box, “They belong to the kids next door.”

Taka picked the paper and glared at the guitarist before weakly throwing it back— _which landed on the table and not anywhere near the busker, much to his dismay_ —, “And they’re putting their toys here because this unit is really a storage—,”

“They used to play here, whenever their parents are away,” Toru-san cut him off, effectively shutting him up, “But their parents got into an accident about two months ago where they died,” he calmly said as if he’s not telling a _terrible story._

“WHAT.”

“The kids…” his voice went softer, quieter as he resumed on the task of clearing the floor, “the owner of those toys were taken by the Social Welfare people but they’re not allowed to bring all of their toys so I volunteered to keep it…”

_If they we’re already taken, why bother keep those things?_

Taka was so tempted to ask that but he stopped himself. That statement hung heavily in the air inside the unit. Everything was quiet, only the faint drone of the heater can be heard and Taka instantly felt like a horrible monster for talking about a sensitive topic carelessly.

He nervously licked his lips as he started to try to apologize, “Toru-san, I—,”

“The bathroom’s there,” the guitarist said, pointing towards the only door behind the kitchen, “You can change your clothes there.”

_Wait, I still need to say that I’m sorry—_

“—you don’t wanna sleep with those snow-soaked clothes, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Taka lowered his gaze on the back pack he’s been hugging since he came into Toru-san’s unit, “I don’t have any spare clothes…”

It was Toru-san’s turn to look shell-shocked at the sudden revelation while Taka slightly shook in fear under the teen’s intense gaze.

“Then, what the fuck is inside your bag?!”

_Lots of money and jewelries and gadgets._

Is what Taka wanted to say out loud but he stopped himself and instead, smiled sheepishly at the guitarist, “Uhm, stuffs..?”

…

If looks could kill, Taka would definitely just drop dead _right there and then_ due to Toru-san’s scalding stare. _It feels like he’s staring right through my soul, dammit!_

But instead of asking more questions, Toru-san patiently shrugged before he crawled to the nearby drawer and rummaged through its contents. After a while of searching, he fished out a faded long-sleeved shirt and a dark-colored gym pants and handed them to the confused Takahiro.

“Uhm…” Taka blinked at the set of clothes on his hands, “What’s this?”

“What do you _think_ it is? That’s called clothes—,”

Taka was about to snap and smack the big-set of clothes on the man’s face but then, Toru-san suddenly smiled teasingly down at him, “Wear that. There are towels in the bathroom. I also have hot water,” he tilted his head, looking suddenly unsure, “I think.”

“You _think_?”

“I’m sure,” he confidently said afterwards. Taka looked blankly at him but after a while of staring at the annoyingly handsome face of the guitarist, Taka relented in the end. He huffed, fishing out his phone, keys and wallet from his coat and laid them all onto the low table.

“Keep an eye to my things then,: he muttered as he slowly got up. He can feel Toru-san’s eyes lazily following his every movement but he decided to ignore it or else, he’ll definitely turn into a bright red walking tomato.

“You really have the guts on ordering me around in my own house, huh…” he mumbled in amusement.

“Do you have any problem with that?”

“No, none at all,” Toru-san burst out laughing— _the deep chuckles ringing into Taka’s ears long after he had shut_ —and locked—the bathroom door to block those annoying snickers from the living area.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _That brat—even if he’s older than me—sure is annoying, huh_ , Toru thought as he rolled down the futon on the tatami flooring of his unit. After a few minutes of shuffling papers, he finally cleared the room free of his mess. He then folded the low table and proceeds on preparing the futon for them to sleep while the rich kid is taking his sweet time on bathing.

Now that he’s thinking about it…

_Wouldn’t it be weird to share the same mattress with a person you barely know about?!_

Toru tilted his head at that, glancing at the futon innocently lying on the floor. He only have one—and unless Takahiro would prefer sleeping on the cold floor— _because I won’t be the one to get kicked out of my own bed, mou!_ —they would be sleeping on a single mattress for tonight.

With Takahiro.

Under a single blanket.

_Oh God!_

Toru instantly covers the wide, gleeful smile that formed on his lips as he thought of that. There’s probably wrong with Toru’s head because instead of getting mortified at their… _looming predicament,_ his heart is hammering for an entirely different reason.

He feels _giddy, excited, warm_ —

In fact, even without looking at a mirror, Toru can easily tell— _easily feel_ —that there’s a huge, joyful grin now plastered on his otherwise usually frowning place.

He really should be concerned for his sanity because of _these random-grinning shits_ since meeting Takahiro but even before he can actually correct his facial expressions, something caught his attention.

Takahiro’s phone is vibrating in a corner where he placed it after keeping the law table away.

Tor knows that it’s rude to answer any phone calls but when the phone didn’t stopped shaking in the next minutes, he curiously crawled towards it and stared at the name displayed on the huge screen.

_Old man._

His father?

Toru’s brows scrunched up in confusion. He really shouldn’t answer any calls but what if Takahiro’s father is getting worried sick over his child’s absence? And judging by the loud exhales of contentment and humming from the bathroom, Toru can easily tell that the young man is far from rising up from his bath.

_I…_

Toru’s hand reached out to grip the phone and contemplated for a moment if he’s really gonna answer it or not…

_I’ll just tell him that his son is fine, right?_

Right.

And so, Toru roughly sighed before touching the answer button and putting the gadget next to his hear.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taka felt relieved and rejuvenated as _fuck_ after he had a much-needed warm bath in Toru-san's unit. Even if the bathroom is so cramped and almost too small for his liking, the warm water still feels like heaven on his freezing skin and injured face earlier.

_Plus, Toru-san’s shampoo smells nice…_

Not like he sniffed it and used a rather generous amount of it on his hair— _I’ll just pay for it later_ —just to have the same scent on his fluffy hair.

…

_What the fuck ever._

He doesn’t really want to get out of the cozy bathroom but he can’t stand seeing his reflection on the fogged mirror—his battered face, hollow eyes and lips in perpetual scowl looking back at him for minutes was more than he can handle so he decided that it’s about time to _reappear_ and annoy the hell out of Toru-san’s life.

So here he is now, silently padding through the kitchen—wearing Toru-san’s overly sized clothes. They are so big on Taka’s lithe frame that he constantly needs to pull the neckline from slipping and showing more of his shoulders and collar bones. The sleeves also reached the tips of his fingers while he needs to be ultra-careful on his every step to prevent himself on tripping from the hem of the gym pants he’s wearing.

He found Toru-san sitting on a single mattress laid on the floor— _wait, where’s the table_ —with his back facing Takahiro.

A small smile formed on his lips as he glanced at the now familiar frame of the guitarist. Even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, Taka must admit that even _Toru’s back is so annoyingly handsome, mou!_

_It’s irritating but it’s the truth!_

Taka huffed and surveyed the floor—gone were the shit-ton of papers and even the damn low table littering on it earlier. Instead, there was a single futon, two pillows and a thick blanket lying on the worn-out tatami mat.

He doesn’t really want to jump into any conclusion but  damn, _where am I supposed to sleep?!_ He really couldn’t see any other mattress nor bed and unless the guitarist have a spare room hidden in a secret door then…

Then…

“ _A-ano_ ,” he awkwardly cleared his throat, blinking when Toru-san visibly flinched at the sound of his voice, “Where am I gonna sleep, Toru-san?”

Said Toru-san suspiciously wiped something from his face— _his eyes?—_ before facing Taka and flashing him an obviously forced smile.

_What happened?_

“Oh?” Taka’s heart clenched painfully at the sound of his rough voice like—like he’s just keeping himself from crying, “Y-you’re done?”

He was gone for a few minutes, maybe even half-an hour, and Toru-san is suddenly looking solemn as if somebody just _died._

_What happened, Toru-san?_

Instead of answering immediately, Taka slowly padded—barefooted and dragging the hem of his pants behind him—where Toru-san is sitting and kneeled before him, earning a confused, child-like expression from Toru-san.

“Are…” he gulped, his hands itching to raise themselves and envelope those manly jaws— _which were much defined than his own_ —brush away the unshed tears on the red-rimmed corner of Toru-san’s eyes to somewhat—somehow—ease the pain that’s obviously plaguing the guitarist at the moment, “Are you alright, Toru-san?”

The large, heavily lidded eyes roamed on Taka’s face—with so much intensity that he had this urge to pull the shirt tighter and curl up to hide himself from the guitarist’s burning stare.

It feels like Toru-san is staring right through his souls, knocking over his tall walls, unraveling every fiber of Taka’s being.

And Toru-san looks like he’s _about to cry._

He looks at Taka like he’s adoring him—like he’s the _most precious_ thing in the world.

Oh, and Toru-san also looked like he’s gonna pounce on Taka any moment from now.

…

_Seriously!_

Taka wishes that it’s only his imagination but Toru-san is looking at Taka like he’s being slowly undressed with those burning eyes and that Taka should really, really stand up and run for his life but damn—

Damn.

—how could he, when Toru-san is silently inching towards him, both of his hands raised in the air before landing on either side of Taka’s face gently. He flinched at that, mindful of the still sore spots on his face—while his eyes widening at the soft, tender touch of those calloused fingers over his bruised jaws and cheeks.

The warning signals are blaring in Taka’s mind—telling him that this is so wrong on many levels, that he shouldn’t allow _anyone_ to hold him like this and that he should snap back into reality and not _, I don’t know_ , gawking and dumbly staring at the overly-serious face of the guitarist just a few inches across him.

“T-toru-sa—,”

“Alright?” he asked, voice cracking as he cut Taka off, "You’re asking me if I’m alright , when _I’m the one_ who’s supposed to be asking that to you?”

…

Whatever warmth fuzzing through Taka’s vein just a few seconds ago instantly drained from his system upon hearing that question. He felt like he’s been doused with _ice-cold water_ at that. His walls instantly went up as he recedes deeper into his armors. He recoiled, as if he’s been scalded by a hot iron bar, shrugging the warm hands off his face and casted a dirty look to the guitarist.

“What the fuck,” he hissed, eyes narrowing in hurt, “I already told you that I don’t want to talk about it! Why are you even suddenly bringing that up, huh?!”

That made Toru-san frowned in displeasure, making Taka bit the inside of his cheek, before he folded his hands over his lap and spoke in a low, slow manner.

“I…” he started, “I’m just worried about you. Is that bad?”

“Well, I don’t need your pity!” Taka snapped, “I’m fine— _everything’s_ fine just a few minutes ago so why did you have to ruin it by asking those questions?!”

“Fine?” Toru-san spat, “Why are you insisting that when it’s obvious that you’re pain, that someone is hurting you, huh?!”

“No one’s hurting me!” he denied.

“Liar!”

“Fuck you!” Taka snarled and was about to get up but toru-san is quicker— _damn his fast reflexes_ —to pull him down, and pushed him on his back over the mattress. He straddled his legs to prevent him from escaping and/or kicking his handsome face to death, “Let me go! FUCK YOU! _Fuck you very much_ you fucker!”

Instead of snapping back at him, Toru-san calmly— _frighteningly calmly_ —stared down at him, pinning him won with his wrists on either side of his head to effectively chain him down on the soft futon.

“You can yell at me all you want,” he slowly spoke at the fuming Takahiro, “You can punch, kick, slap—,”

“I’ll fucking kill you, you bas—,”

“—or _even kill me_ ,” Taka’s eyes widened at that, “You can do everything you want but first…please tell me who’s hurting you or—,”

“No,” he firmly said but Toru-san’s fiery determination didn’t waver— _didn’t show any crack_ —like he’s been expecting Taka to be obstinate right from the start.

“Or just…just stop _pretending_ that you’re fine,” he said, “That everything’s okay, that you’re strong as steel when you’re clearly not. Stop— _stop running away from me_ , ne?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Toru watched as Takahiro’s eyes slanted in fury, in distrust, disgust and betrayal—but amidst those negative emotions swirling beneath the depths of those obsidian eyes, Toru can see a faint, lingering taint of sadness, of longing of craving to be cared for, to be yearned for, _to be loved._

He really didn’t plan to end the night like this—to ruin the comfortable atmosphere that was just blooming between them but—

But—

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Where on earth are you, Takahiro?”

Toru’s brows knitted in confusion when a deep voice went blasting from the phone even before he can say hello. _Is this Takahiro’s father?_

“You know that there’s an _omiai_ for today and what did you do?! You ditched it! Again! And vanished to god knows where!”

_Omiai? Like a marriage interview?_

Toru was well-aware that Takahiro is from a rich family but the revelation that the other teen is still forced on such thing sends…this twinge of pain crawling in his chest.

_And, again?_

Does that means that Takahiro had sneaked out to escape an omiai for many times just to what—see me play in the cold streets?

“The bank called me that you withdrew all your savings earlier! What are you thinking, pending all my money like that! You’re not just a disappointment,” Toru’s breath hitched at the venomous words, “an utter disgrace and now you’re spending like you own every single yen in your account! Do you really want to get beaten up again, huh!?”

What.

“Are those slaps and hits stull not enough for you to e\learn your place?!”

Toru wasn’t listening anymore. His fingers automatically cut off the ranting from the other lone as his eyes stared at the window across him.

He’s confused.

And hurt.

And livid.

In fact, he can feel the tears forming in  the corner of his eye’s because what the fuck?! How could Takahiro’s father talk like that to his own son? How could he talk as if Takahiro is the most vile, most horrible person on earth?

And most importantly, how dare he…

How dare he hurt Takahiro like that?!

_How dare he hurt my Takahiro like—slapping and hitting him like that?!_

It’s no wonder that the young man is so _adamant_ on evading the topic—it’s no wonder why he won’t talk about his bruises because it was his own father who’s been abusing him all along!

Toru’s eyes burn at the thought—as images of a young— _terribly smaller_ —Takahiro flooded his mind. He’s crying, _wailing_ like the child he is as his father struck him mercilessly—begging his father to stop… _just stop_ as tears relentlessly cascaded from his huge, glassy eyes.

 _Now it all makes sense_.      

Takahiro has been hurting.

And Toru has been blatantly turning a blind eye on it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

That’s why…

That’s why he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed answers, he needed confirmations, _he needed…_

But Takahiro…he’s still obstinately staring up at him, his armors fully erected, not giving any signs of weakness to Toru—and that hurts even more because he wanted—he needed—Takahiro to open up to him, to trust him!

“I’m…” Takahiro’s voice cracked beneath him, “I’m fine, _I’m fine_ …” he insisted, chanting the words like a _broken_ porcelain doll.

“No, you’re not—,”

“I said, I’M FINE!”

“Why are you insisting on lying?!” Toru finally snapped, his voice rising a few octaves as he glared at this silly boy, “Would it hurt you to admit that you’re weak, that nothing’s alright for you anymore!?”

“No! But If I admit it then,” Taka’s frame shook as he started to struggle again, “then what would be left for me!? What would you do?! Mock me? Pity me? Disgust over me? _Like what everyone else did?!”_ he panted out, “So, don’t…” his voice quivered as he averted his gaze, “Don’t do this to me Toru-san…I don’t want to be weak…not now…not here…n-not… _not in front of you_ …” he softly pleaded, his voice breaking Toru’s heart— _piece by piece._

 “Fuck it!”

“Well, fuck you too!”

“I probably know nothing about the hardships you went through!” he explained, earning a look of bewilderment from Takahiro, “But I can see that you’re suffering! That you’re hurting and I won’t stay ignoring it anymore!”

“I’m not a _charity case_ so I don’t need your pity, Toru-san—,”

“I don’t pity you!” he insisted—because how can he pity such _strong soul,_ such _strong-willed_ person who grins and laugh and hums like he’s _never been in pain_ —, “I wouldn’t! I just want to understand you— _your reasons, your emotions_ —how you ended up like this… I just want to know that…that it’s alright to fall and make mistakes—we all do that, ne..?”

“You don’t understand…”

“Then make me understand, dammit!”

“Why would you even care?!” Takahiro screamed, glaring murderously at him, “I don’t even know you—you don’t even know me so what the fuck would you care?!”

And even before Toru can thoroughly think of his next actions, he went diving into Taka’s face. Their lips met roughly—Toru feeling the soft full lips he had dreamt almost every night while Taka’s eyes almost popped out of his sockets in huge shock.

It was nothing sort like they described in the movies but it doesn’t matter—all of those made-up fantasies didn’t matter to Toru because Takahiro is here, lying beneath him, looking bewildered, shocked and disgusted _all at the same time._

He had made his point.

So he really should pull away, but his lips won’t cooperate and instead pressed a bit more as if he’s testing the waters. Taka’s lips parted— _as if automatically_ —probably in shock and Toru took advantage of that to slip his tongue inside the sweet warm cavern. He was sure that Takahiro let out a startled moan— _but a moan nonetheless—_ at that so he was rather disoriented when the rich kid turned his head sideways to escape Toru’s kisses and glared up at him as if he just gravely offended his family or something.

“What the fuck,” he spat, “What the fuck?!”

Toru didn’t answer— _words clearly don’t work on this brat_ —and decided to convey his emotions, his feelings, his yearning through actions. He pulled his one hand free and gently, _oh-so gently_ tilted Taka’s cheeks with a finger towards him as he stared at the myriads of discoloration marring his flushed cheeks.

“You’re so pretty, you know that…?” he huskily said as his fingers travelled all over Takahiro’s confused face—tracing the contours of his brows, the corners of his eyes, his cheeks and the sore spot on its side, until the pad of his fingers landed on the corner of that sweet, sweet mouth.

“You’re so flawed yet you’re so perfect…” he murmured, almost _reverently._

Toru should really get his head fixed—that’s what probably Takahiro is thinking at the same moment because he spat angrily, “I’m a man! Stop it!”

Toru knows that.

But he didn’t stopped his fingers from caressing the battered face lovingly. If Taka would accept him in his life—not just as a random busker he met in the busy streets of Shibuya—but even more than an acquaintance.

_More than a friend._

“So, why…” he gulped, not listening to Taka anymore—he was quickly getting lost, getting devoured by his somber thoughts that he failed to notice the shock and confusion etched on the face beneath him, “why won’t you accept me…? Why can’t you just… _just leave it all_ —all that’s hurting you, all that’s causing you pain…? Why…?”

“Seriously!” Taka complained, “Stop it Toru-san!”

He’s selfish—he discovered that just a few weeks ago when he realized that he wanted Takahiro’s attention, his company, his voice, his body languages, his everything all for himself—and knowing that someone is hurting what was his is really, really making him mad.

His hand unconsciously tightened their vice-like grip on Takahiro’s thin wrists as he dove for another kiss. It wasn’t like how he imagined their first kiss together to be— _it doesn’t seem to taste sweet and intimate anymore._ But Toru couldn’t stop himself, swallowing the moans and grunts—going deaf on the protests and curses below him.

Taka…

Takahiro…

_I’ll protect you so…_

_I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore…not even your father!_

So..

So…

Toru leaned even more, plundering Takahiro’s mouth ruthlessly as if he owned it. Somewhere in the back of his head, he knows that it’s wrong, that everything’s wrong but he can’t stop—even if he can already taste the coppery taste of blood and the salty tears on his lips.

“Y-you’re hurting me, Toru-san!”

_WHAT._

He instantly recoiled at that, leaning back and surveyed the struggling frame beneath him. He was panting, his mind reeling as he stared at Takahiro’s face sure it still have those ugly bruises—but there’s more than that now. There was blood smeared on the young man’s lips— _maybe he had bit it earlier but he couldn’t really remember_ —and his eyes are red and puffy while tears re relentlessly cascading on his flushed cheeks. His eyes—they were staring at him with loathing, with betrayal, with distrust and just a hint of confusion.

At that moment, Toru had discovered that he had _royally fucked up_.

 

What was he doing?

What have he done?

He gulped, the bitterness crawling down his throat as he replayed his actions on his mind. He had forced himself on Takahiro. He had hurt Takahiro when he promised himself that he won’t let anyone to hurt him.

Such…

_Such motherfucking irony it is._

Toru wanted to laugh— _hysterically_ —at his stupidity but he can’t. He was frozen beyond words. Takahiro would never trust him anymore. Takahiro won’t love him anymore. Takahiro won’t see him anymore.

“I—,” his breath hitched as his heart painfully constricted within his chest as he inched backwards until he got off Takahiro’s legs, and bowed—a deep bow reserved only for the imperial family—his forehead touching the rough, worn tatami mat, “I’m so sorry I—,” he tried to say—

_Don’t look at me like that._

_I don’t want to hurt you._

“I’m sorry...”

“I’m sorry...”

_I didn’t mean to do it._

_I just.._

_Just say that…_

“I’m sorry…”

_..that you won’t go back in there…_

“I’m sorry...”

_…that you’ll stay with me…_

“I’m sorry...”

_…let me protect you…_

“I’m sorry...”

_…let me care for you…_

“I’m really really sorry. Takahiro I—,”

_…let me love you…_

“SHUT UP.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taka had been shocked when Toru-san suddenly swoop down to steal a kiss from him. He was far from being a virgin in any aspect _but damn_ , he can instantly tell that this is different. That Toru-san has been _suddenly different._

He didn’t see that coming. There were a shit ton of questions racing in his head that time and he wanted nothing but to push the man away from him, but Toru-san won’t relent. He’s strong, and Taka’s wrist is aching—the scars were still sensitive and Toru-san’s tight grip on it doesn’t really help at all.

He tried struggling— _I really did_ —because  he has been used to be the one getting kissed, to be the one kissing the other and _not on the receiving end of merciless assaults on his lips and mouth_. He was livid, angry, scared, but most of all— _he’s confused._

_Why is Toru-san doing this?_

Why is Toru-san kissing him with a _pained expression_ on his face as if… as if he’s the one being taken advantage of?

Why is Toru-san’s eyes glazing over, like he really don’t want to do what he’s been doing, but he doesn’t know any other way to express himself?

_Why…_

But then, Toru-san had suddenly cooled down— _or so Taka thought—_ giving fluttering, gentle touches on Taka’s face—like how an art enthusiast would adore a perfectly carved marble statue with the back of his fingers. The touches were fleeting, _like the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings_ , making Taka flinch and want more all at the same time.

His feelings are conflicting with each other especially when Toru-san uttered those words of complete adoration for him. _Pretty? Perfect? Is Toru-san blind? Can’t he see?_ Can’t he see how battered, how broken, how ugly Takahiro is? Why would he…why would he said those…

Those things that made Taka’s heart expand rapidly? Make all of his blood rushing towards his face? Make him feel this strange fuzzy warmth coursing to the every fiber of his beings?

Even before Taka can ask those questions out loud, Toru-san is already kissing him again and Taka instantly went struggling to be freed— _albeit for a different reason_. He should be really running away for his life and damn dignity but he can feel this…this small happiness rising in his chest as Toru-san acted, caressed—kissed him like he’s wanted, like he’s yearned, _like he’s being actually loved_. It’s exhilarating and confusing at the same time because it shouldn’t be supposed to fell like this.

It should be _disgusting._

_Repulsive. Sickening. Revolting._

But his mind—the muscle madly beating within his chest—says _otherwise._ He yearned for _more._ And that frightened him so he did the only thing to do when you’re scared shitless. _Fight back. Escape. Run away. Deny._

But Toru-san didn’t like that, biting Taka’s bottom lip when he didn’t parted his lips until it draw blood out. His tears are probably flowing like damn waterfalls right now but—but— _this feels so good—Toru-san feels so good—_

And then suddenly it was _gone._

Just as Taka was about to let go of _everything,_ Toru-san recoiled from him as if he’s been doused with ice cold water. His eyes we’re wide, crazed, confused as he stared at Taka.

Taka gulped at that. _Why did Toru-san pulled away?_ Did he finally realized that Taka is not worth it? Din he finally see how pathetic he is? Taka’s mind is whirling with dark emotions—

He thought..

_I thought that Toru-san would catch me if I… If I…_

And then, Toru-san was suddenly kneeling—away from him—muttering apologies over and over again as he bowed deeply at Taka.

…

…

It was the ultimate plot twist of the century. Taka had to raise himself—with his still shaking arms—into a sitting position as he watched the guitarist broke down into pieces. He can hear him sobbing— _crying? Why is he crying_ —and he can see the drops of tears staining the tatami mat.

“I’m sorry…”

_Why are you apologizing Toru-san?_

“I’m sorry…”

_It’s not your fault…_

“I’m sorry…”

_Get up from there, Toru-san…_

“I’m sorry…”

_Don’t lower yourself like that, Toru-san…_

“I’m sorry…”

_Don’t lower yourself like that for me, Toru-san…_

“I’m really really sorry. Takahiro I—,”

_Toru-san, I—_

And then Takahiro couldn’t take it anymore, “SHUT UP,” he hissed as he crawled forward, grabbed Toru-san’s shoulder and pulled him up straight. He gasped when he saw Toru-san’s tear-streaked face, biting his lip to prevent himself from sobbing like a child in front of Takahiro.

“Shut up,” he repeated begrudgingly as he raise his arms to cage the crying face between his palms.

He…

He really _hated_ seeing the guitarist like this. Take hated seeing him so…so…

_Weak._

_Vulnerable._

_Human._

He swallowed— _hard_ —as his shaking hands gently, _oh-so gently_ brushed those tears away and god it felt fucking… _fucking awful._

Toru-san is not supposed to be sniffing and sniveling like that— _he’s Toru-san for fuck’s sake!_ H-he’s supposed to be strong, invincible, stupid, annoyingly handsome and with an irritating smirk plastered on his face. He’s supposed to be Taka’s moral support— _his new-found strength_ —so why the fuck is he crying and apologizing again?!

Taka swallowed for the umpteenth time because something heavy and nasty is dying to crawl up from his throat before he tried to speak in his calmest and most sincere voice.

“D-don’t fu-fucking cry y-you _m-motherfucking wuss!”_ he croaked out.

God.

He just hoped that he didn’t stammer like that! And that his words were a bit censored and somewhat gentle or something!

_Jesus!_

“B-but I—I hurt you,” he spat in bitterness, wide eyes averting their gaze from Taka’s face, “I’m supposed to protect you and yet I—,”

“It’s not your fault, Toru-san, really—,”

To Taka’s immense shock, the guitarist glared at him sideways, “Then whose fault it is? Are you…are you gonna blame yourself again? Are you gonna accept all the pain again, like what you’ve been doing the entire time, huh, Takahiro? Aren’t you getting _tired_ of it?”

He went speechless at that.

How could Toru-san speak as if he knows him—as if he knows every single pain that Taka has been enduring ever since? How can he be so dumb and perceptive at the same time?

“I-if that would make things easier then why the fuck not—,”

“Bullshit!”

“It’s just how I am, Toru-san!” he snapped angrily, “You can’t do anything to change it—to change me! I’m broken, can’t you see?!  As far as I can remember I’m already like that. I’m not pretty see?” he said, gulping— _debating whether it’s worth the risk to show his scars to this man_ —before he pulled down both of his borrowed clothes’ sleeves—revealing the crisscrossing lines of raised skin, of cuts and slashes decorating his wrist, “See, Toru-san? C-can you see all of these?” he bitterly smiled, as the guitarist’s eyes widened in surprise.

Toru-san stared at his pale flesh as if it’s the first time he saw those kinds of scars— _maybe it is—_ and just stared at it in fascination, not disgust— _not even a hint of revulsion._

“You’re probably just imagining things when you told me that I’m perfect earlier, nee? Coz I’m not—f-far from it—I’m…I have clinical depression Toru-san,” he said, not really understanding why he’s suddenly spilling all of his secrets to this man, and why on earth is he starting to cry when he’s the one who’s _supposed to comfort the busker_ , “I lose hope in life a long, long time ago. My family, my friends, the people around me…they’ve never cared for me for real…I hurt myself constantly…My father struck me constantly…the society constantly sees me as a failure…all of it, I accept all of it because I deserved them, nee? _Nee?_ ”

Toru-san was furiously shaking his head in denial but even before he can speak, Taka beaten him into it. He dug his fingers on the honey-blond hair, and leaned forward until their foreheads were already touching.

“D-don’t cry, Toru-san _, nee?_ You’re right,” he nodded, smiled sadly up at him, “…I’m tired of it all… _god knows how fucking tired I am_...but…but you see, I can’t just stop doing it that’s the way I am…someone who can’t be helped—I’m that fucked up, nee?”

Toru-san obstinately shook his head, sprinkling salty tears everywhere while Taka tightened his hold on the guitarist’s warm face, forcing him to stay still— _to look directly at him._

“Y-you’re the first one w-who told me otherwise…You’re the first one who told me that I’m pretty— _which is weird because I’m a man dammit_ —You’re the first one who told me that I’m…that I’m perfect even being obviously flawed…You’re the one…” Taka smiled at him as fresh tears spilled from his puffy eyes, “You’re the one who taught me otherwise…given me the light…You, Toru-san, I can’t even say how grateful I am to you so don’t… don’t blame yourself from my stupidity, nee? Don’t cry for me, nee…Please, _please…_ ”

He moved forward and planted a soft, hesitant and chaste kiss on the guitarist’s forehead.

_…on his eyelids…_

_…on his left cheek…and right…_

…he paused and looked up at him only to find Toru-san staring down at him with shocked, wide, vibrant eyes. Even before he can chicken out, he immediately crossed the remaining distance between them, with Toru-san meeting him halfway in a soft, tender kiss.

It was nothing sort of what they shared earlier.

This time it was slow, careful, gentle— _loving._

It was _everything_ Taka had imagined for his first kiss.

It was nothing like the cliché stuffs—there were no sparks emitted, nor fireworks exploding and certainly no time-stopping shits that occur—no, _none of those bullshits._

But instead…he felt… _r-right.._

…that it’s alright to be there…that it’s alright to be with Toru-san and that it’s alright to give it to him because _why the fuck not?_

There were no sparks between them but Taka can feel his heart pounding madly against his chest, especially when the younger teen pulled him closer and really kissed him as if there’s no tomorrow.

There were no fireworks suddenly exploding around them but he can see Toru-san— _him and only him_ —and his blissful expressions as if Taka had given him the _entire fucking universe_ and everything a man can wish for—a-and it’s enough to freaking blind him and made him squeeze his eyes shut as pressed back just as eagerly.

Apparently, it was all that Toru-san is waiting for.

All that’s left of the guitarist’s hesitation and patience was thrown right outside the window as he reacted— _disturbingly_ —instantly to his unsure lips as he held onto him  tightly—as if he’s afraid that Taka would change his damn mind and just… _ran off._ Toru-san deepened the kiss, biting his lip hard when he didn’t open his mouth fast enough for his liking.

He yelped and probably must have tried to swear at him— _fucking, Toru-san, calm the fuck down_ —but he found out that it’s difficult to do so when someone is passionately invading your _goddamned mouth._

Toru-san moved his arms, his hand running through his hair, down to his back as the other hand was carefully placed against his chin, tilting his head a bit so that the busker could move his lips against his with more ease.

_Oh god._

Taka’s heart skipped another beat and before he knew it, he’s already clutching— _gripping_ —on Toru-san’s shirt, for dear life, pressing his lips even more against those thin pair.

The guitarist was pleased at that. _Very pleased_. And he was actively making sure he got the message as he gently pushed Taka down, until his back hit the soft mattress. Half of his body was still on the floor, and Toru-san is looming at him with a predatory look on his face making him suddenly nervous as fuck.

H-he..

He wanted to stop it… he wanted to stop himself from kissing back...from...breathing like that…from liking everything Toru-san is doing but..

…but…

…how could he hate all of that when from all the shits that ever happened in his entire life _, it’s the only one that felt fucking good and right?_

Toru-san used a hand to grab one of Taka’s wrist, pulled the sleeves down with his teeth as he gently pressed tender kisses on Taka’s scars— _his sign of weakness, of vulnerability, of failures_ —showering them with love, with adoration, without any trace of disgust—all while looking straight at Taka’s eyes.

It was the last straw.

So when Toru-san leaned back a bit, his body propped by his arms on either side of Taka’s flustered face, his eyes glassy and asking for permission, for approval, for _confirmation_ even without actually speaking—he didn’t hesitate, _even for a fraction of as second_ , to interlock his fingers on Toru-san’s nape and pulled him down—pull him closer and kiss him and be _kissed over and over again_ in that cold, chilly night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

Now that I’m thinking about it— _on the floor of that small, cramped, and, messy room_ —it was where probably I fell in love.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cringing in a corner*
> 
> Please tell me what you think, though~!
> 
> Thanks for reading~!


	3. Another Song for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The soft sun rays that were filtering through the thin curtains woke the both of them the next day. It was the first time that Taka had woken up in such a comfortable manner—he was used waking up at noon or through the obnoxious knocking on his door back in their house—so this— _waking up beside a warm body_ that practically envelopes his is a strange, _new_ experience for him.

He couldn’t really remember the exact things that happened since he’s still sleepy and exhausted due to being awake all night long but he’s aware that Toru-san soon woke up _, bathe and dressed_ him in relative silence—like how a dutiful mother would care for her beloved child. The guitarist was humming as he dressed Taka with his own set of clothes, cooing at the messy bed hair that the older teen is sporting.

Taka had originally wanted to flash a dirty finger and tell the busker to fuck off but he’s too comfortable and his mind is still buzzy from the warm bath and soft, tender caresses over his body that he just unceremoniously dumped his face on Toru-san’s chest in an attempt to sleep again.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Toru-san chuckled, his laughter reverberating deep within his chest yet he still hugged Taka’s frame closer and ran his calloused fingers through his damp hair, “You’re not gonna sleep on me. We’re going somewhere today, remember?”

“Nooo…” Taka whined and snuggled deeper to the welcoming embrace of the guitarist who laughed heartily in return, as if he’s totally amused with Taka’s morning clinginess/laziness or something.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Even if Taka wanted to sleep the day away— _his lower back is still aching dammit_ —he knew that he had promised to come with Toru-san to wherever the fuck he’s going so early in the morning. He’s a man and a man _never_ goes back to his word so here he is, moodily following Toru-san as they get off a bus in front of an…

_Orphanage?_

Taka’s brows knitted in confusion. Why are they going into an orphanage? Does Toru-san planned to adopt some kids or something? That made Taka almost halt in his steps—

_Eh?! Matte, matte, matte!_

_I know that we’ve just crossed a line last night but I’m still not ready to—_

— _almost,_ because Toru-san is holding his hand. When he hesitate for a moment, the guitarist probably felt the soft tug and looked over his shoulder with knitted brows.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Huh?” Taka’s head whipped up at the handsome face of his— _what? Friend? Lover?—_ companion and smiled nervously, “Nothing!”

“ _Taka_ …”

“I’m just curious on what we’re gonna do here…?” he said, gesturing to the small, quaint building surrounded by fences and shrubs. It’s easy to miss the place, and you can mistake it from a normal house if not for the huge signage just beside the glass entrance.

Toru-san mysteriously smiled down at him, “You’ll see,” he said before leading Taka towards the building through their still linked hands.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

And oh, Taka did _easily_ see.

They we’re greeted by a lady, who’s pretty and smiling like she’s _straight from the heavens and all_. She looked up from the folder she’s been looking at and smiled widely when she realized that it was Toru-san who entered the building.

“Oh my, what a lovely surprise!” she said, immediately abandoning whatever she’s been doing to stalked towards Toru-san, “How are you, Yamashita-san?”

Taka instantly scowled at that. _What the fuck? Who’s this girl?_

He swallowed, hard—cringing at the _bitter_ jealousy that’s quickly blooming within his chest.

Why are they talking as if they knew each other for _decades?_

_And why is she batting her eyelashes while talking to—my—Toru-san?!_

“Fine, fine,” Toru-san, much to Taka’s horror, laughed, “How are you, Emiri-san?”

_Don’t talk to her dammit!_

Taka badly wanted to scream that but he stopped himself and instead, silently fume in the background. It’s not like he have the right to get possessive of Toru-san. Even after what happened last night— _the screamings, the sweet words, the promises of devotion, of adoration and countless kisses_ —they haven’t really had any proper conversation about…them.

What would happen to them after this?

Taka would need to go back to their house one of these days and Toru-san is still studying...besides, their… _whatever they’re having_ is not really acceptable in the society’s eyes. He might ruin Toru-san. He might ruin their family’s name.

He might ruin everything.

_Fucked  ‘em all up_ like what he’s been doing until now.

He was so lost in his dark thoughts that he visibly flinched when Toru-san’s hands snaked into his lower back. What—

“This is Takahiro,” he was saying, gently urging him forward as he gestured to the pretty lady, “This is Emiri-san. She’s working here…”

Taka blinked out of his thoughts and stared at the lady with disdain— _who, by the way_ —is also mirroring the look of disapproval on his face. It’s as if she doesn’t really like the fact that Toru-san is holding him— _like how a lover would do_ —in front of her damn eyes, and she’s not even hiding her emotions.

“It’s nice meeting you,” a small, satisfied smile formed on Taka’s lips as he offered his hand for a shake. The girl—the bitch—accepted it and gripped—so fucking tight, _do you want to crush my bones or what you damn_ —it firmly while smiling sickly sweet at him.

“Same here, Takahiro-san,” she blandly said before focusing her gaze to the guitarist, “They’re already awake now. You want to see them…?” she asked, leaving Taka in the dark.

_Who’s them?_

He didn’t like it. The fact that Toru-san and this Emiri has something to talk about while Taka is rotting in the background. Like the fucking _wallpaper_. But even before he can voice it out and bitch out—two kids suddenly barged into the reception area, rushing and clinging to Toru-san’s legs like motherfucking octopi—

_E-eh?!_

It was like magic.  Toru-san’s usually bored face suddenly brightened up—the way it does when Taka reciprocate his kisses last night—like he had just won the lottery. He kneeled down and scooped down the hyperactive kids bouncing on the floor, asking to be lift up with high-pitched giggles.

“Toru-nii, Toru-nii!!!” the one with the straight hair said, “Lift me up, Toru-nii!” he demanded.

“Hai, hai,” said Toru-nii chuckled as he put that boy onto his shoulders while he lifted the other one—the one with slightly curly hair—onto his arms, “How are you huh? Have you been good?”

“Yup!” The curly-haired nodded, his rounded cheeks almost bouncing as he did so, “We’ve been coz Toruge said we should!”

“Good!” the guitarist laughed, ruffling both of the boys’ long hairs, “Good!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Takahiro clutched the plastic bag in his hand a bit tightly at that sight. He feels like _an outsider_ again—like Toru-san had suddenly left him in the air—but this time, the pain he’s feeling in his chest is because of an entirely _different reason._

He witnessed how Toru-san laughed, chuckled and smiled as if it’s the best day of his life as he hugged the small boys—so small they’re barely reaching the guitarist’s thighs— _tightly_ —like a father would do to his own kids. The boys are giggling, laughing and flailing their small limbs in the air in excitement as they told stories—which all sounds like childish babbles to Taka’s ears—to their Toru-nii. Their round cheeks are of vibrant scarlet, their voice we’re almost squealing, and their moving a lot—wanting to get Toru-san’s attention all for themselves—but Taka couldn’t bring himself to get annoyed at the sight before him.

Instead, he feels this…this _small desire_ to be included at that interaction. He wants to be with them, laughing and cooing and exchanging stories about broken toys and dreams about becoming _super-duper-cool_ rock star in the future—Taka wants to be included in that _small family._

He…

It was _all_ he’s been looking for since childhood. Someonewho would coddle him, would lift him over his shoulders, and someone who would allow him to play and play instead of having vocal lessons every fucking day.

Someone like Toru-san.

He audibly gulped—trying to force the lump forming in his throat as the painful memories of his childhood emerged in his thoughts.

“— _Nee, nee_ , Toruge,” he heard the curly-haired kid said—abruptly pulling him out of his stupor—, “Who’s that? Is he your fwend?”

Taka blinked, realizing that four set of eyes were already trained on his frame. Emiri-san looked like she’s _dying_ to kick Taka’s out of the orphanage while the kids we’re eyeing him with huge, wide, curious eyes—both of them suddenly getting quiet and reserved— _shy_ —around Takahiro.

And Toru-san…

Let’s just say that Toru-san had this look of pure adoration and admiration on his damn half-lidded eyes again. Which makes Taka feel like he’s being _undressed_ just by being stared at.

“Hai,” the guitarist nodded as he put down the kids on the ground again, “This is Takahiro. Say hello to him, ne?”

Taka bent down on his knees and pulled the friendliest smile he can muster— _because these are kids and his scowl would probably just send them crying in an instant_. But instead of greeting him with smiles and enthusiasm they have with Toru-san, the two small boys recoiled, hiding their frames behind Toru-san’s pants in embarrassment.

_Eh?_

“H-hello,” Taka winced as he stammered in nervousness, “I’m Taka. Nice meeting you…I guess..?” he asked, as his eyes darted towards Toru-san’s face questioningly. _Why the fuck are they hiding from me?_

“They’re really shy to strangers,” Emiri suddenly said behind him—hiding her grin behind a perfectly manicured hand—so Taka blankly stared at her because _who the fuck asked for your explanation, again?_ “They just act like that with Yamashita-san here,” she probably noticed that Taka is eyeing him with murderous intent because she straightened up and excused herself, “Anyway, please be free to go to the garden. I’ll prepare some snacks, ne?” she said— _to Toru-san alone._

“Hai, hai, thanks,” he mumbled before patting the kids’ hairs, “Come on, Tomoya, Ryota, say hello to my friend. He’s important to me so don’t make him mad, ne? See, he’s looking like he’s about to cry!”

“I’m not!”

But the kids believed it anyway and came rushing to Taka’s unprepared form, “No, no crying!” they shouted in unison as they fuss over Taka—warm, small hands touching his hair and face.

“Don’t cry, Takachan,” the curly kid— _Tomoya?_ —said, before sniffling like he’s the one who’s about to cry, “Don’t cry nee?”

“I’m not crying!” he insisted but the other kid— _Ryota?_ —was already brushing the imaginary tears of his eyes, his chubby fingers almost _stabbing_ his eye in the process, “Whoah, kid, be careful with your hand!”

“With my hawnd?” Ryota asked before he dumbly stared at his open palm, “What?”

“Let’s just play, nee, Takachan ne?” Tomoya said, wildly bouncing on his spot like a kid who’s high on sugar, “Snowballs!”

Ryota instantly forget whatever he’s searching on his hand to throw both of his arms in the air, “Snowballs!!!”

“Yeah,” Taka sheepishly grinned as the two lively kids led him—latching on both of his hands—towards the garden, “Snowballs..?!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taka has never been into any snowball fights. He had watched their neighbors do that during winter break but he doesn’t really have friends that time so he wasn’t able to enjoy the winter season as much as kids his age does. He wasn’t able to slide over the pavements, make snow angels and snowman in the backyard because he’s too busy memorizing music sheets and vocal lessons inside their house.

So when the first snow ball hit his face, he doesn’t really know how to react. It was damn cold and hard and having the ball practically exploding on your face isn’t _really a nice_ thing to experience…

But then, the boys—Tomoya and Ryota—are _madly giggling_ while pointing their cute little fingers at Taka’s snow-covered face and clothes—that sound, and the looks of pure joy and glee written over their flushed, chubby faces are enough to make Taka grin and retaliate.

They spent the morning like that—playing in the snow like they’ve known each other for years. The two were constantly _bombing_ Taka’s face with snow balls while he can only splash them with the white stuff because he doesn’t want them to have concussion and/or broken face if he accidentally threw the ball harder.

When they grew tired of running around, Tomoya led them to their favorite tree which is, according to him: _“so pink and pwetty with many flowews!”_

But since it’s in the middle of winter season, Taka only sees a huge, flowerless Sakura tree. Its branches are wide, and will probably give enough shade for the three of them— _or more_ —if it actually has flowers and leaves or anything aside from those branches.

“Toru-nii said that it’s cold that’s why it sleeps,” Ryota mumbled. Taka sat under the three and leaned back on the wide, worn out bark while the two laid their heads over his lap as if they fucking own it or something. Not that he minds it. His hands even took an initiative to run his freezing fingers through the long hair of these children.

_They probably need a haircut_ , he thought as he stared up at the grey, somber sky above them. Where was Toru-san anyway? Is he still talking to that damn Emiri? And where the fuck is the snacks she promised _? I’m fucking starving here, dammit!_

He sighed in disappointment—his lips curling into a frown as he mindlessly listen to the kids babbling on his lap. They were laughing about how their Toru-nii looks like Gachi— _who-ever-the-fuck-it-is—maybe it’s an actor, hmmm?_ —and that makes Taka wonder how they can still be laughing like _that?_

They’re in an orphanage for _fuck’s sake._ That means that they’re parents probably died or abandoned them for good. How could they laugh so merrily as if they don’t have any problem? How can they giggle so heartily amidst this cold, cruel world, while Taka is rotting away in sadness and self-depreciation?

How?

“Why are you sad, Takachan?”

He was pulled out of his trance-like state when Tomoya waved his red-tipped fingers in front of his eyes. The kids probably noticed that he had gone silent for a moment now, because they’re already kneeling across him, looking up at hi with wide eyes filled with worry and confusion.

“S-sad?” his voice cracked as he stared at their faces— _so innocent, so full of life_ —so different to Taka’s own, “I’m not sad…”

“Yes you are!” Ryota said, almost piercing his eyes with his pudgy little finger again.

“Anoo nee,” Tomoya said in an almost reprimanding manner—which sounds ridiculous coming from a child not taller than 3 feet—, “Toruge said that we weally shouldn’t be sad coz life is showt so we should always be happy, nee?”

_What._

Taka wanted to answer that yes, he’s happy at the moment and that he’s not crying and Ryota should really retract his finger before he stabs Taka’s eye _for real_ but Tomoya suddenly looked down and fiddled on the loose threads of his sweater.

“Papa and Mama went away, ne?” he said in a soft voice that clutched at Taka’s heart painfully—children were not supposed to sound like that. They should be happy as the sunshine and giggling like maniacs over nothing not— _not…_

“They go in a caw accident,” he explained, making Taka’s eyes widened at the conclusion he’s reaching, “Those people took us but Toruge didn’t want to. He said that he’ll find a way to get us back, ne? So we should always give aw best to be happy! So… So…” he then glanced up at Taka and mumbled the next words, “Don’t be sad, nee, Taka-chan?”

Takahiro can feel his heart skip a beat at that _genuinely_ innocent statement.

He doesn’t know why he suddenly felt silent—too scared to avert his gaze from Tomoya’s wide eyes—at that. It’s funny how a single statement from a kid can cause a whirlwind of emotion inside him.

Don’t be sad?

_Because life is short?_

Takahiro eyes stings at the realization that these are the kids—the neighbors that Toru-san was talking about last night. The children who lost their parents in a vehicular accident months ago.

They’ve lost their mother and father and yet, they are here, living their life, laughing at almost everything as the world is as bright as before. As if the world didn’t just cruelly took their parents and abandoned them alone to fend for themselves.

And somehow…

Somehow, Taka felt _foolish._ He was born in a wealthy household, he grew up with his parents and yet—and yet he still came out as totally _fucked up_ person. A damaged, spoiled rotten person.

And even before he can realize what was happening, he was shocked to feel his eyes burning—fat glob of tears rolling down on his scarlet cheeks as he blinked, wiling those unwanted tears away. Why is he crying? There’s nothing to cry for, right?

Well, aside for the loss of these children.

And Takahiro’s lost childhood.

He was crying for their _brave souls._

He was crying for his _weaknesses._

 “ _A-are_?” he asked, more to himself, as he raised both of his fists to stop the tears from falling but it won’t—he can’t stop crying—, “W-why— _why._.?”

He was crying— _in gratitude_ —that he had lived this far, that _after so many nights of thinking_ about ending his life, he _didn’t_ actually did, that he had lived to meet these pure, _pure_ angels.

Tomoya and Ryota watched him broke down—his sniffles turning into sobs and silent wails before they— _too_ —burst into tears and hugged him in a pathetic attempt to comfort him.

That was how Toru-san found them a few minutes later— _bawling and sniveling under the Sakura tree_ —in the middle of the snow-covered garden. He rushed towards them, asked what’s wrong but Taka couldn’t explain it since he’s still choking in his own tears and the kids are clinging to him like _motherfucking koalas_ while crying their eyes out so he just leaned to embrace Toru-san—relishing at the warmth of his body—and cried even _harder._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was colder that night, but it didn’t stop the two from going to their usual place to busk. There are even more people tonight, Taka thought as his eyes scanned the crowd of shoppers across them.

“I’m planning to buy them some gifts…” Toru-san murmured, his heavily-lidded eyes trained on the bustling sight across them, “Ryota and Tomoya. They’re the children of my neighbor. The owner of the toys in my unit, ne?”

Takahiro nodded as everything makes sense in his mind. The reason why Toru-san had kept all those clothes and toys. The _reason_ why he is struggling to finish his education. The _reason_ why he is busking every night—even in chilly cold ones—in the busy streets of Shibuya.

_It all makes sense._

“You’re planning to adopt them,” Taka slowly said, testing the words in his tongue and find it pleasant to his ears, “The brats. You’re planning to take them, Toru-san?”

The busker didn’t responded immediately. Instead he just hummed, his fingers strumming restlessly as the world moves around them. Taka subtly glanced at the guitarist beside him, noting for the _god-knows-how-many-times-already_ how good-looking Toru-san is—those intense bedroom eyes, pointed nose and lips that are perfectly curved at the right places, as he patiently waited for an answer.

He knows that adopting wouldn’t be as easy as walking in the park.

Toru-san needs a stable job to support not just one, but two lively kids through their lives. And to have a stable job, he needs to finish his degree with flying colors.

“That won’t be easy, Toru-san…” he softly reminded, but Toru-san just looked down at him. A small, teasing smile plastered across his face, as if he _already_ knows that it’ll be a hell ahead of them.

“I know,” he nodded, eyes trained at Taka’s face as if he’s the prettiest thing in the entire world, “But it’s something I’ve already decided. That’s what I want to do in the future, no matter how hard it will be…” and then, he stopped playing the guitar, reached for Taka’s hand and casually interlaced their fingers, making Taka’s breath hitched in giddiness, “…how about you, Takahiro?”

 

 

* * *

 

That night, Taka had reached a decision.

He slept in Toru-san’s unit again, but not like the other night, they just spent the time talking about random things about life, about music, about the gifts Toru-san is planning to buy for the kids. Taka was sure that Tomoya and Ryota would _scream_ in excitement if Toru-san would give them a surprise and that made the both of them laugh heartily.

They exchange kisses, alright—but they were chaste, soft and short every now and then before sleep finally claims them. They slept blissfully in each other’s arms that night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Toru-san had to leave the next morning because he have classes like any other university student—unlike Taka who stopped going to school after high school. He’s fine with that because it would make _leaving_ easier—without all the unnecessary drama and scream fest from Toru-san.

He had decided.

And he knows that Toru-san knows what he’s planning.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright here?” Toru-san asked for the tenth time as they both stood in the genkan. The guitarist is dressed in normal clothes and a backpack was slinging on his back instead of the black guitar case Taka was used to see on him. It was weird, especially when Toru-san wore thick-rimmed eyeglasses—making him look like an actual student rather than a random _ossan_ wandering in the streets at night.

Taka would love to laugh at their current predicament. It was just so _domestic_ —he standing on the tatami floor and biding Toru-san goodbye before he goes to school. It’s weird and totally new to him but it also gives this warm, fuzzy feeling deep within his system.

Taka smiled—brightly up at the younger teen—his face cleared of any scowl and frown, _desperately_ trying to reassure that guitarist that everything would be alright.

“Of course,” he said, standing on his toes to straighten the younger’s collar, “Look, I’ll just sit here and practice laying the guitar. Maybe go out and eat later, but I’ll be here,” he smiled, the corner of his eyes starting to sting from the tears that were threatening to fall any damn moment, “…I’ll _always_ be here…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Of course, Takahiro wasn’t there when Toru came back from school. He had knew it—the way Takahiro would avert his gaze, the way his full lips curl into a forced smile, and the way those eyes glazed over.

Taka had _lied_ to him.

And Toru was an idiot—a _complete idiot_ for believing him that he will stay here and not go back to his hell of a house. Back to his father. Back to the person that deprived him of the love and acknowledgement he had been oh-so craving for since childhood.

His shoulders slumped down as he slowly padded inside his unit. His bag slid down the floor, forgotten as he aimlessly walked towards the now empty—and perfectly clean unit.

Toru had been living here since he finished high school—since he left his parents’ home in Osaka to pursue his desired degree and start a new life in the city jungle Tokyo –he was used in being alone, for _countless days and night_ s but it had never feel so empty—this unit had never feel so _dark_ , so _cold_ , so _fucking empty_ without Takahiro in it.

He had a bad feeling so he left in the middle of the class, running through the streets, hoping— _praying_ —that he’s just imagining things, that Takahiro had actually listened to him to stay—but no, the unit is bare, empty, and without any trace that once, _even once_ , a man named Takahiro has been there.

_You promised that you’ll be here…_

Toru plopped on the old tatami flooring, his frame sagging in weariness, in disappointment, in this painful feeling of losing something so precious—someone so, _so precious…_

_You promised…_

Did he scare Takahiro away?

Di he turned him off by telling him that he plans on adopting Tomoya and Ryota in the future?

Or…

Or he doesn’t really have any plans in the future—involving Toru— _at all?_

…

…

_Wow. That hurts._

Hurts like a motherfucking bitch, _actually._

He was so, _so_ close into breaking down into a crying mess— _no matter how wimpy that sounds_ —when his eyes noticed the low table placed in the corner of the room. He was sure that he had folded it after they ate breakfast earlier—

And then his eyes fucking widened the size of the universe when he realized that something is there—aside from the usual papers and blue prints he casually litter on the floor—it was, _eh, what’s that? A rug? Did Takahiro left a fucking rug? For what?_

He crawled towards the table, and upon closer inspection, he discovered that it’s not an old rug that was laid carefully on it. It was a pair of knitted gloves perched over a piece of paper with a long-ass letter written on it.

_A letter?_

His hand slowly— _hesitantly_ , as if he’s afraid that it’s a dream or a part of his hopeful, desperate _hallucinations_ —picked the paper. It was one of Toru’s scratch papers, there are even computations written on the back of it but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. Instead, his eyes immediately browsed the contents of perfectly, neatly written letter—

 

_~~Dear~~ _

_~~To my dearest~~ _

_~~Fucking~~ _

_Dear, Toru-san,_

_I’m long gone when you read this letter. Don’t worry, I just went back to my house to settle…things. I’m sorry that I hid things to you, for ~~sometimes~~ okay, most of the times snapping at you when you only wanted to help. I’m really an asshole but believe me when I say that I’m really, really grateful to you. I decided to man up and clear things up with my family and that would…definitely not end well. At least for my face._

_I know that you’re not blind to not notice my bruise and I’m really thankful that you’re very considerate to not ask any more questions nor explanations._

 

Toru gripped the edge of the paper a bit too tightly at that. If Taka just knows that Toru is already aware of the truth—that he already knows who’s the one mistreating, hurting him…

 

_I will tell them all to you, someday, if we’ll meet again. They’re not really filled with fun shits but I owe you the answers right?_

 

What do you mean by “if”?

 

_I… ~~love~~_

_I wanted to say that I’ve been so alone all these years and I thought that it’s alright to live in darkness—that I deserves all the shits I’m experiencing—that I’m indeed a lost cause but…but when I saw you, heard you playing that night, something within me has changed._

_Suddenly there were lights, there were noise, there was **life** —suddenly there was **YOU.** I don’t believe in love at first sight but I definitely fell in love with your music so much that I can’t help myself from coming back—over and over again—to hear you playing whenever I can. That certainly brought me into various mess but I don’t regret it—any of it—all the moments we’ve shared together. **Never.**_

_So hey, if I can make it out alive, would you…would you still let me stay with you? You don’t have to worry about me! I won’t be a burden, I promise! You can continue studying while I’ll look for a job and help with the expenses. And when I’m stable enough, and if you’ve had earned enough money, we can finally get Tomoya and Ryota from the orphanage, right? Wouldn’t that be great, Toru-san?_

 

Toru was wrong.

_Terribly wrong_.

It’s not like Taka doesn’t have any plans in the future involving him because Taka had already planned their— _including Ryota and Tomoya’s_ —future together!

He can’t help as the tears rolled down his cheeks, dropping onto the paper and staining it. He was crying yes but he can also feel a huge smile forming across his lips. He must be turning _crazy_ —crying and smiling all the same time just from reading a letter from Takahiro.

 

_They’re idiots and eat like monsters (remember the snacks they practically devoured yesterday?) but I will learn how to cook so they won’t have to starve under our care ne? I will learn how to do household chores even if that’s gonna be a royal pain in the ass. Then we’ll move to a real house, with a huge yard where they can play, run and roll around as much as they want, ne? I’m dumb and useless right now but I will learn—I will study—I will work just to be a good guardian to them, ne?_

_~~So let me stay.~~ _

_So promise me—please promise me that you’ll wait for me..? That—that you will still accept me afterwards? You don’t have to worry about me—I’ll be gone for days…weeks...maybe even months, but I promise that I will surely go back to you. So please, please, I beg you—I’ll do anything—just wait for me, ne? ne?_

**_P.S._ ** _I wrote lyrics for your song—for my favorite song. It’s dumb but I’ve been thinking about it as early as the first time I heard you playing it in the streets. It’s not cool, as expected of me, and I just want you to take a glance of it before tossing it to the trash bin okay?_

**_P.P.S._ ** _I left my backpack in the box. You know, the kids’ box of stuffs. It has a lot of money and shits in there and If I failed to go back in a year, it’s all yours. Use it for studying or buying stuffs for the kids. And take them to a salon for god’s sake._

**_P.P.S._ ** _The shit on top of this letter is obviously a hand knitted glove. It’s for you. Yeah. But it looks horrible and probably useless so just buy a new one using my money, ne? I’m sorry for doing a shitty job. Seriously._

 

Toru was completely sobbing now while maniacally giggling. He wanted to stop his tears form just fucking falling but his eyes won’t cooperate. Especially when he read the lyrics—it was just so _pure,_ so _honest,_ so like _Taka_. It’s like…

It’s as if that Takahiro is saying it directly to him.

_Like a love letter._

But it’s a million times _better_ because it was made to accompany his music—to be laid carefully over his melodies—to produce a perfect song.

_Takahiro…_

Toru laid the paper down on the table again and picked up the knitted gloves with shaking hands. It was mismatched, the other one was larger than the other. The slots for the index and middle finger are also sewn together in a hand while the other one doesn’t even have a hole to put his fingers into. It was a disaster— _a failure_ —but Toru can see Takahiro knitting it patiently, interlacing _threads over threads_ —his eyebrows knitted in concentration. He probably pricked his fingers one, two _, three times_ and cursed like a sailor— _probably cursing Toru himself_ —before working on it _again and again._

And those thoughts, _no matter how fucked up they were_ , made Toru chuckled in the silence of his room as stared at the gloves on his hands, watching how his tears stained the pair as they relentlessly fall down, “Takahiro you idiot, these are not supposed to be _fucking mittens_ , you moron…”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Hours turned to days…and yet, Toru still continued busking in the streets of Shibuya. He had long abandoned the park where they’ve hung out the past few days, hoping that Takahiro would show up in this place again.

It was even dirtier than before. Clutters and leaves were being carried by the chilly breeze, past Toru’s slightly shaking frame as he continuously played his _ever-so-reliable_ guitar. He doesn’t actually have to busk anymore. He had earned enough money to buy toys and stuffs for Tomoya and Ryota but he couldn’t stop going to this place every night, in hope that he’ll see Takahiro standing— _leaning against the bare concrete wall, silently looking across the streets with his eyes shining in excitement_ —waiting for him.

But he _didn’t._

It has been a week now.

He wanted to search for him but how can he? He knows the man only by the name of Takahiro and besides…

_He had told me to wait._

Toru glanced at his reflection on the wet pavement—messy honey-bland hair, tired eyes with dark circles under them, and the distinct frown on his lips—he looks like shit, as Taka had _eloquently_ said a few nights ago which feels like from another lifetime.

_He promised me that he’ll come back…_

So, no matter how cold it is...no matter how thick the snow is falling…no matter how long he nees \ds to stand there, alone, an d playing a wordless song— _his melodies calling out in the night, longing for someone he holds dear_ —he’ll stay there.

And wait for him

Wait for Takahiro.

“We’re you waiting for me, Toru-san?”

He was probably going _delusional_ when he heard the familiar voice beside him. It was Takahiro’s voice—he’s sure of that—but _how, why, when_ —

He slowly turned his gaze to his right, his fingers abruptly stopping the chords he’s playing to see for himself—to see—

_Oh God._

Takahiro was— _indeed_ —there.

Standing just a few feet away from him, wearing the same expensive looking sweater that covers almost half of his face and his hands were shoved into the pockets of the sweater— _just like the first time he saw him._

Toru’s mouth went dry so he tried swallowing to ease the painful lump in his throat.

He had fresh bruises on his face, in the corner of his eyes on his cheeks and a few gashes in his temples—a huge contrast to his pale skin—but Takahiro _had never been_ so gorgeous than ever. He’s smiling—a huge, proud grin was etched on his full lips— _silken lips that Toru had missed so much_ —and even his eyes were sparkling, glinting with delight, happiness, and excitement.

Despite the ugly discolorations on his face, Takahiro looks _better._

_Livelier._

_Happier._

What happened?

How did it went?

_He hurt you again, right?_

_What did you do?_

_What did they said?_

_What took you so long?_

_I’ve been waiting for you—all this time._

_How dare you…how dare you make me feel like this you silly, silly—_

All emotions suddenly crashed to Toru—anger, contempt, regret, sadness, longing, relief, happiness, contentment—but above all, he can feel his chest expanding with the strong feeling of _adoration_ , of _admiration_ , of _gratitude,_ of l _ove_ for this person.

For _Takahiro._

And now that he’s here again, just within his arm reach, he decided that _I would protect you. I would love you for all the years to come. I would never let you go._

He took small steps with his wobbly legs towards the grinning young man, stared at those familiar almond-shaped eyes that are looking up at him in relief and gratitude and love, before he raise his hand— _the one wearing the poorly-knitted glove_ —and ruffled Takahiro’s hair.

“Welcome home, Takahiro,” he warmly said, as the other’s eyes grew wide in apprehension and instantly glazed with tears upon hearing Toru’s words.

“H-hai,” he shakily nodded as he reached for Toru-san, leaning against his chest, relishing in the warmth and comfort as he embraced him tightly—not minding the stares, the odd looks, the whispers around them—because at that moment _, in that very street_ , they we’re in their own little world—and that’s what matters the most— _nothing else_ , “I-I’m home, Toru-san…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

END

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really love to upload the first chapter of the sequel of A Reason to Keep my Heart Beating BUUUUT I left my draft in the office T^T  
> I'll have to go there to get it first LOL
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you think~!


	4. Life is Just So Much Better from Your Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the anniversary of NOTES~! I can't believe that it's already a year since I've written this story. It's my most favorite one, so short yet so filled with shits that I, for once, felt proud of writing it hohohoho
> 
> My busy work schedule wouldn't let me to sketch shits for the anniversary but I managed to write a short chapter while in the bus earlier so here it is!
> 
> I hope that it still gives the same vibes as the original story, coz you know, a year has passed any somehow, my style kinda changed too.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Takahiro blearily opened his eyes, the old, worn ceiling greeting him. He doesn’t have to look at the digital clock on the night stand to know what time is it—he’s been doing this for months, _almost a year now—_ waking up before the sun rises to prepare food for the kids and make sure that they’re all set to go for school.

_They’ve finished their homework’s last night, right?_

Taka frowned as he faintly remembers the events of yesterday, the two bouncing in joy when Taka fetched them from school. They’ve went to a nearby park, watched the blurs of gold and red and oranges as the two played and jumped onto piles of fallen leaves, sending them everywhere, and their bubbly laughter echoing into Taka’s ears. The two looks so happy for something as _trivial_ as jumping knee deep on the leaves, laughing and cooing, as Taka watched and took photos for Toru-san to see later when he gets home.

_When is he coming home…?_

The small smile playing on his lips faltered for a second as he turned on his side, eyeing the cold, empty spot of the bed where Toru-san should be resting and sleeping and cuddling with Taka after a day of working hard in the firm. _But he has a lot of projects going on,_ Taka mentally reminded himself, trying to will away the pang of hurt within his chest, _they need supervision, and Toru-san needs to do his job and earn for their little family._

And Taka should understand that…and not be the huge _spoiled brat_ he was, demanding that the man should always stay at home and coddle him whenever he wants him to.

This is their life now, he said as he slowly rose to a sitting position and glanced around the room. _Gone_ was the lavished furniture he had always been with all his life, gone were the maids, _gone_ were the butlers at his every beck and call—Taka was left alone to carry out the household chores as Toru-san works and make means for the family. It was nice, at first, when the former busker would come home—his face tired and somewhat looking older, carrying take outs from their favorite Chinese restaurant, but his face would instantly have brightened up as the two little kids dashed past Taka and cling to both of his legs, telling him “ _Okaeri!”_ and “ _Food!”_ in an incoherent mixture of excitement and childish babble.

Taka would watch it from the _genkan_ , watched as the guitarist bend over to fuss on his little kids and give them the plastics of food for the two to carefully bring to the kitchen. And when Tomoya and Ryota has padded away, Toru would straighten up, look at him with eyes soft and warm, a small, sincere smile forming on his lips as he planted a soft, chaste kiss on Taka’s forehead.

_“I’m home.”_

* * *

 

 

 

And that would always be the highlight of Takahiro’s seemingly mundane days—waiting for his lover to come home, watching as the children stuff their chubby little faces with food and they would all help with cleaning up before they retire for the night.

_It has been nice, at first—_

But sometimes, when he’s left alone—Toru-san gone for work and the kids were off to school—in the silence of the house, Taka would be…attacked by this sudden feeling of doubt. He would stare at the rag on his hands, and the floor that he’s moping. He needs to wipe the stain that the kids made on the floor when they were coloring yesterday, and it frustrates the fuck out of him that he’s the one who’s doing it.

He…

_Is this…_

Is this really what he fought for before? Is this really the life he had wanted? The life he had exchanged for a more luxurious, a bright future for him? Is this…

Is this—playing like the good housewife—the life he had dreamt, he had yearned, he had wanted all this time?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Takahiro shook his head and rubbed his sleepy eyes, and for a moment, he caught a glimpse of his scars. They’re still ugly, still makes him want to hurl out whenever he’s seeing them but being with the kids—and of course, Toru-san— _who had always told him how they love everything of him, with or without his scars_ —helps him accept those imperfections as a part of himself. He…he might not be able to go back and change the past, but he could accept them, learn from his mistakes, move on, and never repeat them again.

For the sake of the _kids_ who would definitely bawl their huge, adorable eyes out.

For the sake of the _ma_ n who had taken his hand back on that chilly, winter night.

And so Taka continues.

He got up, made the bed and went to the bathroom to freshen up. Any moment from now, the kids would wake up, crawl into his room and sleep there for a few moments—

“Coz here’s warm,” Ryota would sleepily mumble.

“Coz here’s Taka-chan,” Tomoya would agree as he snuggled deeply against Taka’s pillows.

—and looking at their angelic figures, Taka doesn’t have the heart to wake them up, so he’ll let them be and go to the kitchen to prepare the meals and the clothes the kids would wear. He doesn’t have to wake those two up, because Toru-san has taught them to respect the time. They would sleepily pad into the kitchen, Ryota holding onto Tomoya’s clothes, both rubbing the sleep away from their eyes as he greeted him good morning and that they’re hungry and wants some pancakes.

_Demanding little shits._

But Taka would indulge them, because they look so precious sitting on the table like that, cheeks rounded like chipmunks as they nodded their approval, eyes shining at Taka in gratitude for another great meal. Taka smiled, because goddammit, learning how to cook wasn’t easy—he got a shit ton of burns and wounds and scratches, another shit-ton of wasted experiments— _overly salty, bland, exploding shits everywhere_ —before he finally got it, until Toru-san can finally eat his bento without gagging and looking very ill as he forced his dumb-self into eating the food Taka had prepared for him.

_That idiot._

_He doesn’t have to force himself into eating that crap just to make me happy,_ he thought as he dressed the kids up. But even after saying that, he couldn’t prevent his…goddamned heart for fluttering in bliss, at the thought that the guitarist could now openly praise his cooking. _“You’ve gotten better,”_ he would say across the table, a small, proud smile etched on his perfectly-sculpted lips over the rim of his bowl _, “I bet Ryota and Tomoya would love your meals, too.”_

And he wasn’t wrong, because the kids actually did and they would always, always stare at Taka with wide grateful eyes whenever they eat—probably some kind of kiddy adoration or something, for feeding them with nice, warm and healthy meals.

And it was fun. It feels good. And satisfying.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

But Taka is now alone in the house once more. The kids had left, smacking kisses on either side of his cheeks before they run their little legs towards the school. They’ve been growing fast, Taka thought for an instant as they walked hand-in-hand, further and further away from Taka’s sight, sooner or later they’ll became men and would…would…

I wonder, he thought as he silently made his way home. He’s avoiding the busy shopping district, avoiding looking at the tall, clear display windows of the shops that offer expensive clothes and shoes and gadgets that he was so used with before. He went to the grocer, bought some fruits and vegetables and a small cake— _because everyone deserves a sweet treat later—_

And maybe because Taka is expecting that his lover would be at home tonight, and they could share a lovely dinner with the kids just like the good old times.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Toru-san was there when Taka had arrived.

 _Holy shit, he’s actually here!_   His eyes widened at the sight of the shoes hastily arranged in the genkan and the keys on the shoe cabinet. He’s here, Taka thought as he dropped the paper bags and practically dashed towards the direction of their room—he’s finally here, though it was just two days since they’ve last seen each other— _but for Taka, it’s been like forever—_

Because being constantly with the busker makes him feel secured and safe and loved and when Toru-san is frequently doing work out of their humble abode, Taka felt like someone has pulled the rag under his feet, making him feel like he’s falling and drowning and alone—

_I’m all alone again—_

Despite being with the people he cherished the most—

_But now, he’s here—_

Taka shoved the door open, only to see his lover on the bed, face-first—uniform and shoes and all—and soundly asleep. He…

 _He comes home and the first thing he did was to sleep…?_ Taka’s shoulders slumped in defeat at that, before he padded towards the bed.

 _Well, what do you want? Wait for you to come home so he could hug you to death? The man’s tired,_ his mind pressed, enunciating every word, making Taka feel like a monster for being so selfish, so self-centered. His mind’s right, the man looks so damn exhausted _. I mean,_ he can’t even change out of his clothes, mou!

 _Maybe…maybe we’ll still have the dinner tonight_ …he hopefully thought as he sat on the edge of the bed, peering down at the sleeping face of his lover. Toru-san looks so tired, yes, but with him sleeping soundly like this, he still looks undeniably handsome to Taka’s eyes—even with those dark rings under his eyes, pale complexion and a few smudges of dirt on chis cheek, Toru-san still looks good. And Taka was happy, he tried to tell himself, he’s just happy that the man is back and safe and that’s all that matters for now.

 _“Okaeri,_ Toru-san…” he softly said, running his fingers through the blond locks, caressing the man’s face before sighing and proceeds on taking the clothes off to make him feel more comfortable in his sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Taka was preparing dinner when the two finally arrived. They can perfectly find their way home, but sometimes, Taka feels like he’s suffocating in the cold, empty house so he would go and fetch them. But Toru-san was here today so the kids went home by themselves—but the moment they entered the kitchen, eyes casted down and cheeks puffed out like chipmunks in distress, Taka could already see that there’s something wrong—

Something happened—

Someone— _did someone hurt my kids—_

He was instantly wiping his hands off the rag and kneeling before the two who refused to look at his face. Taka feels his heart being sliced and squeezed at that— _why are they not looking, why are they sulking like that—_

 _Are they mad? That I didn’t get them from school today?  But it has never been an issue,_ and the two loves freedom and exploring without Takahiro so why—

“W-what’s,” he gulped, swallowing the painful lump forming on his throat, “What’s wrong?”

Ryota didn’t answered, he just…glared at his socked feet, his fingers clutching the hem of his uniform in a deadly grip, while Tomoya fidgeted on his spot, looking worriedly between his brother before averting his gaze from Takahiro.

_Ah._

Taka leaned back, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the fact that the kids— _that his kids_ —just refused to talk to him. This is…this is the first time that it happened, and he knows shit about dealing with these…maybe, maybe he should wake Toru-san up and let him deal with them because Taka is clueless, Taka is scared, and Taka is _hurt._

 _They used to love me so much,_ he thought as he looked down on the floor as well, _they used to run towards me when they see me after school, used to tell me everything that happened in school, used to them clutching at my clothes to be lifted up._

But now—

He couldn’t prevent that small, small hiccup— _sounding like a pained sob_ —from escaping his lips, making the two jump in surprise across him. He was supposed to be strong! Not—not crying in front of the kids, look, they’re also looking like they’re about to burst into tears, mou!

“Mou, you’re making Taka-chan sad, Ryota!” Tomoya suddenly said, making Taka look up at that outburst from the usually smiling kid.

“I didn’t do anything!” he said before glancing at Taka, “I don’t wanna make you sad but someone made Ryota sad at school today, Mori-chan!” he said, in a very furious voice that he had never heard from the bubbly boy.

“Did you…” he glanced at Tomoya, “Did you two got into a fight…?”

“No!” Ryota answered at the same time that Tomoya bellowed a loud, “Yes!”

“Tomo-kuuuun!” the younger whined in defeat before slumping on the floor, cowering under Taka’s soft, inquisitive gaze, “We didn’t really fight, Mori-chan…I just yelled at that boy coz he said…coz he said that we’re weird, you know?”

Taka’s breath hitched at that. He never thought that he’ll have this conversation with kids at a very young age. “W-weird?”

“We’re not weird!” Tomoya cried in the background, seemingly frustrated at what Ryota’s about to say.

“Yeah coz,” Ryota sniffled, “Coz every one of them has a mom and dad, ne Mori-chan? But me…me and Tomo-kun have two dads…”

Oh.

_Oh._

Taka felt like he’s been bulldozed right on his chest at that. No wonder the kid is upset. Someone probably pointed that out and hurt them with their words….

Taka and Toru had never denied that they were lovers, but they also didn’t showcase it for the whole world to see. It’s still kinda frowned upon in Japan, and he really doesn’t want the people picking on their kids for having two…fathers instead of the normal set of parents.

“…and they said that it’s weird coz you two are _not_ supposed to kiss—,”

“Ryota!” Tomoya cried.

“—and I got angry coz Toru-nii and Mori-chan kissing is so cute so I screamed at him to shut up and leave us alone and…and…” Ryota’s eyes instantly glazed with tears, fat glob of salty liquid cascaded on the chubby, flustered cheeks as he slowly, every so slowly padded towards Taka, clutching his apron an burying his head onto his shoulder, “but we’re not weird, right, Mori-chan? Coz…coz I love you the same like I love my Mama and Papa—,”

Taka’s hands immediately latched on the kid’s back, caressing him in a comforting manner—

_Oh god, so young…so young and pure and hopeful…_

_So loving and forgiving and understanding_ —these kids—these kids are really angels because for a moment, Taka was scared that Ryota would demand him to be a mom, or he would hate because he’s not a girl or worse, he would throw a tantrum on how he wants his parents back and Taka would be helpless, because what could he do?

They’re not even related by blood— _but_ —but that doesn’t stop him from loving these kids all the same.

“—and I’m so—,” he hiccupped, little arms wrapping themselves around Taka’s neck as he earnestly bawled on his shirt, “I’m so sorry for fighting! I didn’t mean to make you upset _waaaaah!!!”_

Taka shushed the small boy and rocked him back and forth, his eyes glancing at Tomoya who’s also silently crying on his spot, then to the figure standing on the doorway to their room. _Toru-san, that motherfucker, was there_ —standing, leaning on the jamb and looks so amused at the scene he’s watching.

“I—,” Taka gulped, locking gazes with his lover, his face full of agony and confusion, because what would he say to Ryota? “I—,”

And the guitarist probably took pity on him because he sighed before padding towards his family, kneeling and gathering the sniveling Tomoya into his arms—the kid instantly latching on the bigger frame of his Toruge before he cried his heart out, “ _Yosh, yosh_ , let it all out, Tomo,” he chuckled, “it’s not good hiding your emotions like that, especially for a midget like you…”

“’m not small!” Tomoya mumbled against the fabric of his sleeping clothes.

“They’re not wrong, Ryota,” Toru-san said, earning three unified gasps of surprise. Taka looked at his lover in betrayal, as Ryota fidgeted on his arms, “they’re right saying that you have two dads instead of a mom and dad, but really,” Toru-san’s free arm rose to touch Taka’s cheek, making him instantly nuzzle at the familiar warmth.

 _God_ he had missed this man.

“—there’s nothing wrong with that,” he continued, smiling at the kids who’s now gawking at him, mouths wide opened and eyes puffy from crying, “We all love you the same, like how your mom and dad would, and even if we’re two dads, we promise to give you everything we have, our love, our time, our affection— _just like every parent could_ —so don’t cry okay? You’re not different from them,” his fingers curled under Taka’s chin , his thumb prodding his chin, the corner of his mouth then to his quivering, supple lower lip, “The love of a parent _cannot_ be measured by his gender, and if they can’t accept that, you should just leave them alone and don’t fight,” Ryota cowered at that small hint of chastising, “..because they’re not worth it, and you don’t have to prove yourselves, because we love each other and we’re all having fun, and that’s what’s important, isn’t?”

The kids looked at each other, before they nodded—and started bawling—clinging to their Toru-nii for dear lives as Taka watched them with glassy eyes. Of course, leave it to the busker to spout cheesy, memorable stuffs like that. Toru-san has his way with words, no matter how hard the guitarist would deny it. He was the same man— _the same man_ wearing old, worn-pout clothes, sitting on the cold, snowy sidewalks of Shibuya and strumming his guitar with gloved hands. He was the _same man_ who reached out to Taka, who made Taka fall in love with his music and sincerity, the first one who breaks his wall and built him up—

 _He was still the same, and Taka feels the same_ —no matter how mundane his life seems to right now—he’ll always be the same Takahiro who was _lost,_ who was _found_ by this man—who was hopeless and saved by this Yamashita Toru—

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

And that night, after they shared the meal and the cake Taka had brought, after watching movies and doing assignments with the kids, and tucking them into their room, Toru-san wrapped his arms around Taka’s waist, pulling him into an embrace as they fall on their sides of the bed. Taka relished at the warmth on his back, the hands tracing invisible patterns on his arms as Toru-san nosed his cheeks and neck, inhaling his scent before sighing in content and satisfaction.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled out low after a few minutes of silence and just laying there, spooning Taka and basking on his warmth.

“For what?”

“Coz I’m always not around,” Toru-san slowly reached out and interlaced their fingers, making Taka look at the pair of silver rings on their left ring fingers—the metal gleaming white as the moonlight fluttering from the windows—, “You’re always left alone to deal with the chores and taking care of the kids.”

“I’m not—,”

“And for making you feel lonely,” Taka averted his gaze and just…stared at the curtains slowly fluttering against the gentle breeze. He couldn’t think of anything to say about that, because it was true. He has been lonely in the past few days, and denying it would just hurt everyone—hurt Toru-san of all people. “It’s just that…I need to work harder…to earn more money for us and—,”

“You don’t have to die of working, Toru-san,” he mumbled out as he laid on his back to stare at the ceiling, “We’re good and we don’t need a lot of money anyways—,”

“—I want to give you a better life—,”

“WHAT,” he spat, instantly rolling on his side to stare at the determined look on the guitarist’s face. His heavily lidded eyes look so focused, so full of passion and love and Taka couldn’t take his gaze away from hat hypnotizing sight, “What do you mean…?”

“You deserve the _world_ , Taka,” he softly said, raising their interlinked hands and planting chaste kisses on every knuckle, making Taka’s face burst into a pretty shade of red, “You deserve the life of luxuries you’ve got before meeting me so I’ve got to work harder—,”

“No—,”

“—and earn more because…because---,”

“No,” he shook his head but Toru-san just keep on pressing, pushing the wrong buttons that makes his vision blurry and makes tears rolled down his cheeks, “No—,”

“—I love you,” he whispered, and Taka whimpered, “And I want you to be happy—,”

“I am happy,” he said through clenched teeth, sucking in breath after breath as he took a long while to realize it himself—he was a fool, for feeling like a bored housewife, he was a fool for thinking and doubting the life that he had chosen—, “ _I am happy_ , with everyone here, and healthy, with Tomoya and Ryota’s silly drawings and crayon drawings on the floor, _I am happy_ even if you’re always sleeping when you’re home, and your clothes are all messed up and stained with coffee, I am happy cleaning up your up your papers and listening to you play the guitar when you have time, I’m…” he choked back the sobs threatening to spill out of his mouth as he reached forwards, his lips planting soft, little kisses on the man’s calloused fingers as he stared up at him—eyes with passion and dedication and warmth and love— _so much love and adoration_ for the man who would do anything for him, the man who made him see how _brighter_ this world could be, the man who let him see how can everything be so much _better,_ with or without the darkness in him, in his eyes—so much love for Toru-san that he fears that his chest would just explode into bits at that moment, “I’m happy…just being here with you, Toru-san—,”

And he smiled. The fucker smiled and nodded, a huge sigh of relief escaping his thin lips as he delved down to kiss Taka, capturing his lips in a slow, loving kiss that _drowns and suffocates and makes him want more_ all at the same time.

And he couldn’t exactly speak for his future self—life is full of surprises and uncertainties anyway—but right at this moment, locked in an embrace of his beloved, Taka could easily say that yes…this is the life he had dreamt of, the life he had yearned for— _being loved by these precious beings_ —is the life he had wanted all this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it gaaaaaaah
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading~!
> 
>  
> 
> Related arts:  
> [SKETCHES](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bkl31s7AwMt/)  
> [ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL](https://www.instagram.com/p/BriAjDlAqfZ/)

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think~!
> 
>  This is a (hopefully) two-part story, by the way. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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